


All the War Left Behind

by airebellah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: 1950s Slang, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Awkward Flirting, Bilbo Has Issues, Bilbo is So Done, Bilbo is such a flirt, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Thorin, Grief/Mourning, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, POV Thorin, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Thorin Feels, Thorin Oakenshield Is a Dork, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and really embarrassing pet names, but then there comes the angst, greaser!Bilbo, it starts off quite light and fluffy, with lots of bad flirting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7933114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo was the epitome of cool. His golden-blonde hair was always combed to perfection and slicked back in the latest style. It seemed he had a permanent smirk glued to his face, as though he knew every dirty little secret. Thorin, on the other hand, was the epitome of square. Everything from his polished penny-loafers, to his ironed button-up and lame glasses.</p><p>So when Bilbo greeted him with a lazy, “Hey, there,” his lips curving into a dangerous smile, Thorin was quite befuddled – and more than a little nervous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks to [Tea-blitz](tea-blitz.tumblr.com) who began with brainstorming and plotting with me, then got totally sucked into this AU and spent hours (and sleepless nights) discussing it, and finally beta'd it.
> 
> I'm excited to be posting once more after a mini-hiatus of about two months.. (feels like it's been forever!)
> 
> This will start off a bit light-hearted, but it will be dealing with some darker themes - PTSD, homophobia, etc.
> 
> Between work and uni, I will have one day off a week (to do a million things... and maybe sneak in some fan fic). So I will start off posting a chapter every second Sunday, and we will go from there!

Thorin placed his heavy book bag on the floor, pulling out his English and Grammar textbooks and swapping them with the Algebra and Trigonometry in his locker. Closing his locker back up with a metallic clang, the teen pulled off his foggy frames, rubbing the glass between the soft material of his shirt.

Thorin was a high school sophomore. He was clean-cut, preferring to go with the flow rather than rebel against authority. He didn’t really fit in with any clique, instead trying to keep a low profile. But it seemed other students always found a reason to tease him – his glasses, his bulky height, even the fact that he had transferred to this school just this year.

There was a clacking of someone’s approaching footsteps, followed by a loud thunk as the person slammed their shoulder into the row of lockers. Thorin started slightly, fuzzy eyes lifting. However, he quickly dropped his gaze back down when he saw the instantly recognizable tight white shirt and black leather jacket of a greaser.

If Thorin was lucky, the rebellious youth had just decided to slouch beside the sophomore’s locker for no particular reason, probably rolling a cigarette between his fingers and glaring at everyone walking passed as though he was too cool to even be here.

Whatever it was, Thorin certainly wanted no part of it. Quickly slipping his glasses back on, he bent to grab his book bag – only for a leather-clad arm to reach down first, grabbing the worn satchel.

Thorin’s shoulders tensed as he finally looked up, mentally preparing himself for whatever cruel taunts were to follow.

Instead he received a disarmingly alluring smile. Thorin may be new – and _unhip_ – but even he knew the notorious Bilbo Baggins. The greaser had quite the rep, and one would be hard-pressed to find the rebel in school. Instead he was often found outside on his motorcycle, surrounded by his gang, chain-smoking and roughhousing with his friends.

Bilbo was the epitome of cool. His golden-blonde hair was always combed to perfection and slicked back in the latest style. It seemed he had a permanent smirk glued to his face, as though he knew every dirty little secret. Thorin, on the other hand, was the epitome of _square._ Everything from his polished penny-loafers, to his ironed button-up and lame glasses.

So when Bilbo greeted him with a lazy, “Hey, there,” his lips curving into a dangerous smile, Thorin was quite befuddled – and more than a little nervous.

Thorin shuffled awkwardly, gaze dropping back down to the satchel clutched in the greaser’s hands. “Can I have my books back, please?” he asked quietly.

Bilbo laughed, throwing his head back. “And he asks so nicely!” the teen crooned, clutching the bag tighter in spite of his words.

“I need those,” Thorin ground out, though he refused to play into Bilbo’s hands by desperately reaching for the bag.

“No, you don’t,” Bilbo retorted with an eye-roll. “What say you and I slough and go hang?”

“Cutting class is for losers,” Thorin insisted, fingers clenching as they longed to grab the smooth leather of his bag.

Bilbo snorted, lips twitching. “Who told you that, sugar?” he crooned, heavy boots slapping the floor as he pushed off the lockers, taking a step closer.

Despite being at least a head taller than the other student, Thorin gulped as he was backed against his own locker. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” he said, voice hard. “I have to get to class.”

“Hmm,” Bilbo hummed, as if considering, before giving Thorin an outrageously saucy wink. “Catch ya later, then, sweet cheeks.”

Tossing the satchel to a mortified Thorin who fumbled to catch it, Bilbo turned around and sauntered down the hall, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear and popping it in his mouth before even exiting the building.

Thorin stood there, jaw dropped in stunned silence. As his rapidly racing heart cooled down, a hot flush spread across his body.

 _Did he – did he really just_ …

A sharp bell startled Thorin from his horrified thoughts. Pushing the confusing encounter away, the student hurried down the hall, praying he wouldn’t be late for his class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter to start, but we'll get there!
> 
> I was only born, yknow, some 40 years after this period, so all my knowledge comes from google. :p


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to finally get this AU rolling - it's been waiting on my laptop far too long!

_ Just ignore him, just ignore him _ , Thorin chanted as he quickened his pace. He gripped the satchel strap across his chest nervously, praying he would run into a teacher.

“Hey, four-eyes, I’m talking to you!”

_ Don’t look back _ , he silently reminded himself as the urge to turn around became almost unbearable. Thorin had dealt with bullies before, and the best course of action was to simply ignore them until they got bored. Though it did not always work; there were times when Thorin had to merely grit his teeth and suffer their taunts, crossing his fingers that it did not grow physical. Sometimes it did.

Thorin turned a corner, legs pumping faster as he navigated the partially filled hallway. It was lunch break, so all the classrooms were locked and the teachers in their private break room. His only hope was to outmaneuver the bully following him.

Thorin was tall, and while he was not bulky or massive, baseball had given him some muscle definition. Not to mention, years of being the only one to stick up for himself had taught Thorin some amateur self-defence. But Thorin did not  _ like _ being forced to fight, and he found it only encouraged the attacker. If lanky, nerdy Thorin threw a punch, the bully would have no choice but to punch him back even harder. When his parents had agreed to transfer Thorin to this new school, Thorin had made his mother a promise:  _ no more fighting _ . And while the fights were never instigated by Thorin himself, he intended to keep that promise, bullies be damned.

As the pounding footsteps closed in behind him, Thorin found himself slammed into a locker by a hand colliding with his back. The teen grunted as his cheek scraped against the cold metal, hands coming up to brace himself. He began to turn around, only to be shoved once more. Gritting his teeth, Thorin rolled his shoulders, back straightening as he pushed himself off from the row of lockers.

“Think you can outrun me, loser?” the other student taunted.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the teen in front of him. He had never seen the boy in his life, yet apparently Thorin had done something grievous.

“Back off,” Thorin warned, hand balling into a fist at his side.

“Or what?” the other teen taunted, sauntering forward as he forced himself into Thorin’s personal space. “You gonna call your Mommy, you loser?”

Thorin’s nostrils flared as he tried valiantly to rein in his temper. He deliberately ignored the snickering coming from the onlooking students, focusing solely on the bully’s every move.

“If you don’t leave me alone,” Thorin bit out through clenched teeth, “I will hurt you.”

The teen laughed, head thrown back as he turned to the small crowd. The other students joined in, feeding Thorin’s building temper.

The bully was still turned towards the crowd when Thorin noticed his stance change: feet firmly planting shoulder-width apart, knees bent in a brace, shoulder tensing. As a fist swung forward, Thorin ducked out of the way. A bang came above him, followed by a satisfying groan of pain.

“I’m gonna kill you!” the teen yelled as he shook out his hand. Thorin had lost his line of sight as he ducked, and the ensuing kick was entirely unexpected. It knocked his legs out from under him, dropping him to the floor. Thorin groaned as his forehead smacked against the linoleum, the pain shooting straight through his skull.

“You think you’re so tough,” the teen shouted as he bent down, hooking his arm around a dazed Thorin’s neck and squeezing tightly. Thorin sputtered, trying to throw the student off him. But his position on the floor made it impossible to gain any momentum, and he gasped for breath as his blunt nails scraped against the thick arm clamped around his throat.

Thorin was only vaguely aware of the chanting and gaping of the collected students, the blood pounding in his ears drowning out most noise. Until there was a shout, and the cheering students died down.

“What the hell is going on here?” someone shouted.

The bully’s arm loosened slightly at the interruption, allowing Thorin a blessed gasp of air. He looked up, hoping against hope for a teacher.

Instead there stood Bilbo, his wide hazel eyes taking in the scene before narrowing into a glare. As the greaser rolled up the sleeves of his leather jacket, cracking his knuckles in preparation for a fight, Thorin half expected he would be the target. Instead he was surprised to hear Bilbo yell, “Get off him right now!”

Distracted, the arm around Thorin’s throat had slipped from its tight position. Thorin tilted his head forward, quickly snapping it back with as much force as he could manage. Bilbo stopped in his tracks as the bully let out a surprised cry.

Thorin spun around immediately, battling the black spots threatening to take over his vision as he swung his fist into the teen’s jaw. The student stumbled back, colliding with the lockers with a solid slam.

Shaking off his dizziness, Thorin charged forward, fist raised once more.

“Whoa, whoa!” Bilbo shouted, rushing forward and grabbing Thorin’s upraised arm.

Thorin turned towards the greaser with a snarl. He could feel the energy coursing through his veins, screaming at him to act.

“He’s had enough!” Bilbo insisted as he tugged Thorin away. Hardened tone softening, he added, “Don’t stoop to his level.”

Thorin glanced over his shoulder, watching with a twisted pleasure as the bully held a hand over his nose, expression twisted in pain. Shrugging off Bilbo’s hand, he stormed down the hall.

Thorin winced as he pressed the cold wet paper towel to his forehead. The skin had not broken, and he could only hope a goose egg would not appear in the morning. Luckily his glasses remained unscathed; Thorin could not count how many spare pairs he had gone through.

As the door to the bathroom swung open, Thorin turned away, hoping to avoid any unnecessary comments. The newcomer walked in, causing Thorin to stiffen apprehensively as he stopped by the sinks instead of heading for a urinal or stall.

“You’ve got a mean right hook.”

Thorin merely sighed at Bilbo’s breezy tone – and he did not like to think about how he had already memorized the other teen’s voice. But he did not have the energy to join in whatever game Bilbo was playing, giving a half-hearted grunt.

“I guess you’re not just a pretty face,” Bilbo continued, unwarranted. “You can hold your own after all.”

“What is wrong with you?” Thorin snapped as he turned back to the mirror, smoothing over his rumpled clothes. “Nobody says stuff like that.”

“Well, that’s ‘cause they’re afraid, sugar,” Bilbo retorted. “But I like you; I’m not going to hide it.”

Thorin’s hands gripped the porcelain sink, knuckles whitening under the pressure. “Whatever laugh you’re trying to have,” he warned as he pinned the greaser with a glower, “Just get it over with and leave me alone.”

Bilbo merely stared at him, head cocking to the side as though Thorin were a puzzle he was determined to figure out. “I’m not playing you,” he said finally.

Thorin snorted, wincing as even that simple movement jarred his aching head. “Then leave me alone.”

He refused to look up, bracing himself against the sink and glaring at the tap. The silence was eventually filled with thudding footsteps as Bilbo marched off, slamming the bathroom door behind him. Thorin breathed a sigh of relief as he was finally alone once more, determinedly ignoring how utterly lonely it felt.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a delay due to a family situation, but it's just a week behind.  
> Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians!

It was a great time to be alive in America. With inflation at an all-time low and the economy booming, the struggles of the Depression were long forgotten. Memories of the war faded rapidly, replaced by the sweetness of victory. And while a blanket of red threatened to fall over their great country, the danger of communist Russia seemed distant and unrealistic. For now, life was good.

Thorin’s family came from old money, and after returning from war, Thráin, Thorin’s father, returned to his profitable business with great success. They had a beautiful detached home in suburbia where Freyja, Thorin’s mother, could happily raise her three children. All in all, the family of five was living the American Dream.

Thorin had always been determined to work hard and get good grades. He idolized no one - even Babe Ruth - as much as his father. He hoped to earn a scholarship to a prestigious school and become a successful businessman, just like Thráin.

In fact, baseball practice was one of the few times Thorin did not have his nose pressed to a book. His nerdiness had earned him plenty of teasing at school that not even being a baseball player could overcome. But his ambitions for the future had Thorin persevering through any bullying.

As Thorin squinted into the field, he adjusted his glasses one more time before picking up his bat. His hands shifted their grip as he stared down the pitcher. He took in a slow deep breath as his teammate pitched the ball, Thorin swinging forward with practiced ease -

There came a laugh behind him. Loud and careless and entirely distracting. The ball whipped passed Thorin’s face, and coach Balin’s yell of “strike one!” fell on deaf ears as Thorin spun around. It was just as he had feared - Bilbo and his cronies were gathered near the field. Of course! They were hardly seen when classes were in session, but now that school was over for the day they just so happened to be milling about!

Jaw clenching, Thorin turned back to his game. Glaring down the pitcher, his arms shook with frustration.

The pitcher lobbed the ball just as the laugh came again. It was all the teen could hear, and once again he missed the ball. Balin called for a time-out, pulling Thorin aside with a concerned frown.

“Thorin, what’s with you today?” the coach asked. 

The teen sighed, pulling off his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said apologetically. “I just can’t concentrate.”

“We all have our off days,” Balin admitted with a heavy sigh. Grabbing Thorin’s shoulder, he gave a reassuring squeeze. “Just take a deep breath and focus on the ball. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Thorin muttered, dragging himself back to the home plate.

Thorin refused to look back in the greasers’ direction, but he could still feel a heavy gaze on him. He picked up the bat, squatting into position. There were no jeering laughs this time. Just absolute silence. But somehow it was even worse. Bilbo was watching, sizing him up, Thorin just  _ knew _ it. And it sent his heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the exhilaration of the game. His chest felt tight, his sweaty hands struggled to hold the suddenly too-heavy bat.

As the ball came at him, Thorin swung. He felt a satisfying jolt as the ball collided with the bat. It just barely glanced off the polished wood, flying a rather pathetic distance. But it was enough, just  _ enough _ for Thorin to make it to first base and for his fellow runners to get ahead.

After that, Thorin was able to simply concentrate on getting a run instead of worrying about who may be watching. Once practice finished, everyone headed to the showers immediately. Except Thorin, who marched towards the fence. Bilbo now stood alone, for which Thorin was secretly grateful. Not that he wanted to be alone with the senior - at least, not in  _ that _ way. But he was not sure he would have had the guts to say what he needed to, had anyone else been around.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he called as he approached, arms crossing over his chest.

Bilbo slowly turned his way, a frustrating smirk instantly crossing his features.

“Just chillin’,” he drawled casually, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear and pressing it between his lips. “Come and join me, superstar.”

“I-I don’t want to hang with you,” Thorin stammered, thrown off by Bilbo’s newest nickname.

Bilbo sighed, lighting his cigarette and taking a long, deep drag. Thorin’s lips curled at the stench as he tried to wave the smell away from his direction.

“I know what you’re doing,” Thorin insisted.

“Oh?” Bilbo prompted, bright hazel eyes dancing in amusement.

“You threw me off my game,” Thorin continued, feeling a resurgence of anger.

“How so?” BIlbo asked innocently.

“By laughing!’

“You’re going to have to learn to concentrate better than that, sweet thing,” Bilbo teased. “What are you going to do at a real game?”

Thorin scowled as he felt his cheeks heat. “I’ve played real games!” he countered hotly. “And I’ve never been distracted like this!”

“So it’s me?” Bilbo said.

Without thinking, Thorin yelled in reply, “Yes!” But as Bilbo’s lips spread into a triumphant grin, the sophomore immediately back-tracked. “No! Not you - not you personally! You just - you were laughing!”

“Oh, so you find my laugh distracting?” Bilbo asked with a flirtatious wink.

“No!” Thorin yelped, scowling fiercely as he kicked the dirt. “Just - don’t come to my practices ever again.” The request left Thorin feeling strangely off-balance, instead of pleased for sticking up for himself.

Bilbo paused, as though seriously contemplating the request. Then he leaned forward, breath smoky and cloying as he whispered, “It’s a free country, sugar.”

Thorin groaned in frustration, turning to storm back to the showers.

“Besides!” Bilbo called after him. “I like to see you all sweaty!”


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please comment if you're enjoying this (or even if you're not) :)

Thankfully during Thorin’s next practice, Bilbo was nowhere to be found. It had grown increasingly difficult to get the senior off of his back. Bilbo was cocky and confident, and nothing Thorin said would faze him.

The worst part was, Thorin actually  _ enjoyed _ it. He wasn’t… a _ homo, _ or anything like that. In fact, he could hardly stand to say such a thing just in his head! But somehow Bilbo seemed different. Even when he teased Thorin, it lacked the stinging bite of a bully. He spoke as if they were just old friends ribbing each other. On the rare occasion Thorin could muster a comeback, Bilbo would merely burst into laughter and give Thorin a congratulatory slap on the back.

Everything about Bilbo sent Thorin’s brain into a jumbled mess, and his heart, well…

But Thorin hated himself for it. Especially because he knew, deep down, that Bilbo must have some ulterior motive. There was simply no way around it. The only thing that made sense in Thorin’s confused mind was that Bilbo was secretly mocking him. Even though Bilbo seemed different from everyone else, there was simply no other explanation.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Thorin tried to shift his thoughts away from the painful subject, but it was in vain. Practice had run really late, and now he was stuck walking home. Usually he enjoyed the solitude, especially since he had to go home to two noisy little siblings. But now he wanted nothing more than a distraction. Stopping at a cross-walk, Thorin eyed the park across the street. If he cut through it, it could save him a good fifteen minutes. As much as he enjoyed living in the suburbs, it was still a long way to go.

Suddenly Bilbo’s voice popped into his head. “ _ Try something new _ ,” the senior had teased him a few days ago as Thorin refused Bilbo’s offer to share a smoke out back. “ _ Live a little on the dangerous side _ .”

Thorin shook the memory away. He didn’t have to prove himself to Bilbo. The other teen was a bad influence, anyways.

But then again… Bilbo didn’t have to know. Besides, Thorin wasn’t cutting across the park because Bilbo told him to. He was doing it for himself; he wanted to get home a little quicker. It wasn’t like he was becoming some kind of rebel!

Chin lifting defiantly, Thorin stepped into the darkened park. He glanced around, eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of street lamps. The eerie silence broke the peaceful spell of the scenery, sending a chill down the teen’s spine. But he was determined to make it to the other side. He wasn’t some nancy; he could handle an abandoned park in the evening.

He was almost halfway through when his skin started crawling apprehensively. Thorin rubbed his arms, silently convincing himself it was just the cold. But the feeling refused to abate. He glanced around, stride gradually quickening as he nervously adjusted his backpack strap.

“What’re you doing here?”

Thorin jumped at the sudden voice, spinning around only to meet darkness.

“This is our turf,” another voice joined the first, gruff and threatening.

Two figures appeared from the shadows, tall and menacing as they stared the teen down.

“I’m just walking home,” Thorin tried to explain. “I didn’t know anything about...your turf.”

“Oh, he didn’t know,” mocked one of the strangers.

“I won’t ever come back!” Thorin promised.

Both laughed, the rough, vicious noises sending Thorin’s blood pounding in his veins.

“What do you say, Bolg?”

As the men turned to each other, Thorin slipped his bag off his shoulder, wrapping the strap around his hand. He had dealt with bullies before, but fights at school were nothing compared to this. These were actual  _ gang members _ , and Thorin had seen enough movies to know this might not end well.

“I’m feeling merciful tonight,” Bolg, announced. “Let’s give ‘im a warning.”

As they stepped towards him, Thorin stepped back as well, surveying the trees. There was a chance he could outrun them, but he would get easily lost in the dark. It was either that or take the beating - and while Thorin had learned to hold his own, he knew he stood no chance here.

Before the thugs could take another step, Thorin darted into the tree line. Jeering cackles rang through the empty park, followed by the thud of heavy footsteps. Thorin ran as fast as he could, his legs pumping even harder than when his team had depended on his homerun to win. His chest started to burn and his legs felt weak, but he held onto the hope that he would make it - to the open street, to occupied houses, to people, to  _ anything _ .

Just as he felt himself slowing down in exhaustion, he heard the rumbling of an engine. Vigour renewed, Thorin raced towards the salvation, too breathless to call for help.

It wasn’t until Thorin stumbled into the clearing that he realized his mistake: it wasn’t some innocent civilian driving down the street. They were still in the park, the dark-clad rider looking towards them as he straddled his motorcycle.

“Look at what we found!” one of the men called as they charged in, roughly grabbing Thorin’s arms so he could not escape again.

The headlights were blinding as the biker maneuvered towards them, Thorin squeezing his eyes shut as he looked away. His heart hammered in his chest as the engine stopped, the rider no doubt preparing to approach.

“Wait, you’re not Azog!”

The confusing words had Thorin glancing back over, his jaw dropping as the third man removed his helmet.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bilbo yelled as he stormed over.

“We found him on our turf,” Bolg growled. “He’s ours.”

“Not you, you idiots!” Bilbo scolded, waving dismissively. At  _ gangsters _ . “You!” The short teenager thrust a finger at the utterly bemused Thorin, yelling, “What are you  _ doing _ here?”

“Your business with our leader is done,” Bolg cut in, voice low and menacing. “Leave before I cut you.”

“He’s under my protection!” Bilbo exclaimed, motioning to the other teen. “Anything you do to him. I’ll do to you. Ten times worse.”

“Bullshit!” cursed the other man. “You’re outnumbered.”

“Maybe tonight,” Bilbo said, lips stretching into an threatening, sardonic smirk. “But your numbers are growing smaller. Let him go now, and I won’t have my people beat you to a  _ pulp _ .”

The men seemed to consider it for a moment before shoving Thorin forward, hard enough to send him stumbling into Bilbo. “This isn’t over,” Bolg growled before storming into the trees once more.

“Fuck it, Thorin!” Bilbo cussed as he grabbed Thorin’s arm, dragging him towards the propped-up motorcycle. As Thorin stumbled to explain, Bilbo muttered, “Later. Just get on the damn bike.”

Thorin swung his shaky leg over the seat, barely arranging himself before Bilbo kicked away the stand. The bike no longer had anything to keep it balanced, and Thorin shuddered as he imagined a five-hundred pound machine toppling over onto his leg.

“Hang on tight, sugar,” Bilbo instructed.

Thorin wrapped his arms around the smaller teen, squeezing for dear life. “Do you have a helmet?” he whisper-yelled in Bilbo’s ear as the engine roared to life.

The last thing he heard before whipping through the air was Bilbo’s laugh.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments last chapter!! <3

If Thorin had thought running through an abandoned park at night with two gangsters hot on his tail was bad, it was nothing compared to  _ this _ .

Some people enjoyed throwing caution to the wind - Bilbo especially, considering how dangerously he cut corners. Thorin, on the other hand, was  _ not  _ one of those people. His knees squeezed the seat until his inner thighs were screaming in protest, his arms wrapped around Bilbo’s torso as though melding their bodies into one. The wind whipped past his ears as an almost deafening whistle, blurring his eyes whenever he dared to look up. Which was not often, considering he had his face firmly buried in Bilbo’s back.

They eventually rolled to a stop, Bilbo shutting off the engine before kicking out the stand. Finally Thorin dared to extricate himself, blinking owlishly as he gazed around.

“This isn’t my house,” he murmured dazedly.

“I don’t know where you live, genius,” Bilbo grumbled.

Thorin ignored the biting tone as he lifted himself from the seat, his legs sore and weak.

“You’re going to tell me what the hell you thought you were doing,” Bilbo instructed.

“I was just cutting through on my way home!” Thorin grumbled, the adrenaline quickly draining him.

“Gods above, Thorin, I didn’t think you were a complete idiot!”

Thorin huffed, pulling his glasses off to clean them. “How was I supposed to know there would be gangsters in there?” he grumbled.

“It doesn’t matter!” Bilbo scolded, throwing his hands up in frustration. “You don’t do stuff like that! If I hadn’t been there, you could’ve been killed!”

“What  _ were _ you doing there?” Thorin asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Bilbo shrugged, nose twitching as his arms crossed over his chest. “I had business.”

“What are you, some bootlegger?” Thorin mocked angrily. “Who has business in a park after sunset?”

The senior laughed suddenly, shaking his head as he snorted. “Oh, Thorin. I love how innocent you are.”

“I’m not innocent,” Thorin grumbled, tired of Bilbo’s patronizing words. “I just...don’t do bad things.”

“Come on, sweet thing, I’ll take you home,” Bilbo invited as he got back on his bike.

“No,” Thorin said, ignoring how petulant he sounded.

Bilbo merely sighed. “What, are you going to walk home?”

“You don’t have a helmet,” Thorin pointed out, ignoring the question.

“Nobody wears helmets, you spaz.”

“Do you know how many people die a year in motorcycle accidents?” he continued.

“No,” Bilbo answered far more flippantly than such a question deserved. “Do you?”

Thorin paused, jaw clenching as he finally grumbled under his breath, “Well, I bet it’s a lot.”

“Get on before I floor it and leave you behind,” Bilbo threatened, snickering as Thorin quickly climbed on behind him. “Where do you live?” the senior asked, craning his neck to look back at Thorin.

The sophomore flushed at the proximity of their faces, barely managing to spell out his address.

 

Thorin breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar houses, practically ready to kiss his grassy lawn in gratitude. He turned to Bilbo, fully prepared to thank the other teen. Only the words didn’t come out  _ quite _ as he had planned.

“You drive like a maniac!”

Bilbo simply stared at him, copper curls coming out of place ever so slightly as he tilted his head. “You know,” he said slowly, eyes sparkling with an all-too familiar mischievous glint. “In the movies, the girl always kisses her saviour.”

Thorin flushed, stammering a flustered, “I’m not a girl!” Though his embarrassment had far less to do with gender, and more to do with the prospect of kissing Bilbo, Thorin thought he should object.

Bilbo smirked slyly, as if reading Thorin’s thoughts. “I’ll take the kiss, anyway.”

“I-I’m not kissing you,” Thorin insisted. A sound came from inside his house, and Thorin glanced over his shoulder, stumbling back from the greaser. His worries about simply making it home  _ alive _ and  _ in one piece  _ were suddenly replaced by what his parents would think.

“Run along, then,” Bilbo muttered, slinging his leg over his propped motorcycle. Thorin glanced back at the suddenly icy tone. Bilbo determinedly looked away, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. “Wouldn’t want Mommy and Daddy to see you with me.”

“Bilbo –” Thorin began, startled by the change in character. But then he heard his front door creaking open, and instinctively turned towards it. Bilbo’s engine revved to life, tearing down the street just as Thráin opened the door.

“Thorin!” his father called. “Your mother and I have been worried sick!”

Thorin tore his gaze away from the empty street, trying for a sheepish grin. “Practice ran late,” he explained apologetically.

He trudged inside the warm, safe house, instantly enveloped in a hug by his mother.

“Mama!” he cried indignantly as Freyja pressed relieved kisses to his cheeks.

“We didn’t know where you were!” she scolded, releasing Thorin from her tight grip only to frown at him. “Dear, what happened to your  _ hair _ ?”


	6. Chapter Six

“Thorin, sweetheart?”

The teen looked up from his plate at his mother’s voice.

“Your father is talking to you,” she informed him, frowning slightly in concern.

“Sorry, Papa,” Thorin said sheepishly. “What was it?”

“I asked you how your practice was,” Thráin repeated.

“Fine,” Thorin mumbled vaguely before turning back to his food, using his fork to push around his steamed carrots.

Sensing Thorin was not in the mood to talk, Thráin soon left and Freyja returned to washing the dishes. Everyone else had already eaten thankfully; Dis was in bed, and Frerin was in the living room, watching his allotted television for the day before finishing his homework.

Thorin soon excused himself, leaving his plate more than half full. He waved off his mother’s concern before kissing her cheek and bidding her a goodnight. Once he was safe in his bedroom, he sat down at his desk.

Any attempts to study soon proved futile. All he could think of was the night’s events. It seemed utterly surreal, how he had almost fallen victim to a beating like that. And Bilbo…

Thorin’s stomach twisted guiltily. Bilbo had stuck his neck out and saved Thorin. And how was his bravery repaid?

He thought of the look on Bilbo’s face just before driving away. Closed off, cold... _hurt._ _“Wouldn’t want Mommy and Daddy to see you with me,”_ he had said bitterly.

Thorin had treated him as though he were some sort of embarrassment, when really, Thorin should count himself lucky just to _know_ someone like that. If it hadn’t been for Bilbo’s intervention, Thorn could have been in the hospital right now!

Bilbo’s flirtations were infuriating and no doubt _odd_ , but that didn’t mean Thorin could treat him so poorly. Besides, nothing about it seemed malicious - Bilbo probably treated everyone like that. In fact, Thorin realized as his cheeks burned shamefully, he should hardly consider himself _unique._

With a heavy sigh, Thorin packed his books away for the morning before flopping onto his bed.

Tomorrow he would apologize to Bilbo.

 

Apologizing was easier said than done when the person in question was nowhere to be found. Thorin wasn’t sure where the greaser’s locker was, though he doubted Bilbo ever used it anyways. He was not in the halls between classes or in the cafeteria during lunch - neither of which were surprising. What _was_ surprising was that Bilbo was not even outside with his crew.

Thorin couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of him. But that was simply ridiculous. He hardly had so much influence in another’s life! Bilbo was probably off smoking, or... goofing off, whatever he did instead of going to class.

Resigned to saving his apology for another day, Thorin went to the library for his free period. He made his way towards the back, isolated from all his noisy peers. _It’s a library,_ he grumbled silently. _You’re supposed to be studying, not fooling around!_

As he dropped his bag onto the table, he glanced around, making sure he truly was alone. Someone sat in the corner, almost entirely obscured by a bookshelf. Thorin’s eyes widened as he quickly removed his glasses, wiping them clean with his shirt before putting them back on. But it wasn’t just a figment his blurry vision.

It was _Bilbo._

Thorin could hardly believe it. The library was the last place he would have ever thought to find Bilbo, unless the teen was using the peaceful setting for some nefarious means. Without thinking he stumbled forward, forgetting about his apology as he simply wanted answers. Bilbo even had _books_ and _papers_ laid out before him, a pencil in his left hand as he scribbled furiously.

Bilbo glanced up at Thorin’s approach, his gaze betraying nothing. “It’s you,” he said simply before returning to his work, His tone carried none of the usual teasing, and in spite of himself, Thorin found he missed it.

“What are you doing here?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo’s gaze visibly hardened, his lips pursing into a tight line. “What, am I too stupid to be in a library?” he retorted.

“No, I’ve just never seen you here before,” he explained lamely. When Bilbo seemed uninterested in continuing their conversation, he asked, “What are you doing?”

“Research,” Bilbo deadpanned.

“For what?” Thorin pressed, eyes scanning the pages.

“I don’t need your help,” Bilbo sniped, gathering the papers into a messy pile and hiding them under a large textbook. “So cheese it already.”

“Why are you researching about conscription?” Thorin asked as he read the title. It was hardly a topic on which to write an essay.

Bilbo’s palm slammed on the table, the smacking sound jarring in the quiet room. “What, are you writing a book or something?” he snarled. “Leave me alone.”

The nauseating churning in Thorin’s stomach returned. He may not be the entire reason Bilbo’s mood was so sour, but he knew he was partly to blame.

“I’m sorry,” he confessed finally.

Bilbo sniffed, nose twitching as he crossed his arms, staring at the wall.

“For last night,” Thorin continued. “You saved me, and I didn’t even say thanks. So - thank you.” Thorin flushed, rubbing at the back of his neck as he awkwardly glared at the floor. “You didn’t deserve the way I treated you in return,” he said.

“No, I didn’t,” Bilbo agreed quickly.

“I really mean it, Bilbo,” Thorin said, catching the senior’s eyes as he spoke sincerely. “Thank you. I hope I can repay you somehow.”

Bilbo blinked, seeming surprised by Thorin’s words. As a smile slowly stretched across the senior’s face, Thorin’s stomach began doing little flips.

“Sit down then, dollface.”

Thorin spluttered at the term. “Why do you keep calling me names?” he hissed as he leaned across the table.

“Calling you names?” Bilbo repeated in feigned shock. “Has no one ever said sweet things to you before?

“We’re both guys!” Thorin whispered needlessly. “You’re not supposed to say stuff like that to me!”

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his chair, the scattered papers between them forgotten. As Bilbo propped his elbow against the back of the chair, Thorin’s eyes were helplessly drawn to the smooth expanse of Bilbo’s exposed arm. Bilbo’s leather jacket, which he was never without, had been shucked off, leaving his tight white shirt stretching across his skin. Thorin gulped, struggling to keep his eyes on the other teen’s face.

“Let me take you to a flick,” he decided. Before Thorin could retort, Bilbo silenced him with a finger. His wicked smile had Thorin gulping nervously. “You said you wanted to repay me,” he reminded.

“That’s not what I meant!” Thorin exclaimed.

“What, are you going to save me from a couple of thugs in return?” Bilbo chuckled at his own words. “Do this, and we’re even,” he promised.

Thorin rubbed his temples. Already he could feel a headache coming on from all this confusion and frustration. “Why?” he asked finally.

“Because I like you,” Bilbo replied, as though it were the simplest thing. “And you like me, even though you deny it.”

“No, I don’t,” Thorin said immediately, though the words felt strangely hollow.

“You don’t deny it?” Bilbo asked with a teasing smile.

Thorin pushed away from the table with a frustrated groan, prompting Bilbo to laugh.

“Just one time!” he growled as he stormed away.


	7. Chapter Seven

Since Bilbo only had a motorcycle, Thorin had to borrow his father’s car for the night. He promised Thráin he was going out with some friends from school, and that he wouldn’t be out too late.

It wasn’t until he was in the car, driving away, that he fully realized he had lied. It had just come out of his mouth, like it was an instinct to come up with some other story.  As much as he told himself there was no reason to lie about seeing a flick with Bilbo, a tiny, nagging part of him merely scoffed in disbelief.

Thorin cranked up the volume of the radio, the loud music drowning out his troubling thoughts.

 

The drive-in theatre was already quite full by the time Thorin arrived, but thankfully a motorcycle was easy to spot amongst all the parked cars. Thorin idled next to the bike, reaching over to crank down his passenger window. He had barely rolled it down a few inches before Bilbo saw him, immediately hopping off his bike and sliding into the front seat.

“Thought you might flake on me,” Bilbo revealed in lieu of a greeting. Flashing a smile, he said, “Glad you’re here, sugar.”

Thorin shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say. “What are we watching? I heard _Marty_ is really good-”

 _“Tarantula!”_ Bilbo answered with a wide grin. “It looks so lame.”

Thorin frowned. “Then why are we watching it?”

“‘Cause that’s what you do!” Bilbo said, as though Thorin were seriously out of the loop. “You watch horror flicks on a date.”

Thorin paused before slowly stating, “This isn’t a date.”

“Oh, really?” Bilbo countered. “See all these cars? They’re full of people on _dates,_ just like us.”

“Why don’t we go to the front?” Thorin said suddenly. “I’ll be able to see better.”

“Oh, we won’t be doing much watching, sugar,” Bilbo said with a wink. “Now why don’t I get us some food? What do you drink, cola?”

“Let me get it!” Thorin exclaimed, explaining, “I want us to be even. I don’t want to owe you anything.”

Bilbo frowned, his expression raw and void of playfulness. “I asked you out, Thorin,” he said seriously. “You don’t owe me anything.” Bilbo got out of the car, standing for a moment before bending down. “I joke a lot, but I would never do something you weren’t comfortable with,” he stated coolly.

“O-Okay,” Thorin agreed. The senior’s tone was hard, as though genuinely concerned Thorin somehow feared him. Thorin may not be sure where they stood, or how he even felt about the other teen, but he knew he didn’t feel scared to be around him. In fact, he felt… safe.

 

Bilbo soon returned with a red-and-white striped bag of popcorn and a cola for them to share. Thankfully there were two straws, though Thorin wasn’t sure how they would tell them apart in the dark.

Bilbo was oddly silent as he settled in, placing the popcorn and drink on the console as he leaned towards Thorin’s seat. But Thorin wasn’t left pondering Bilbo’s strange shift in mood for long as the credits began to roll.

Thorin stared up at the large screen through his windshield, intently watching the flickering image. The dark shadows of grey and black added to the suspenseful mood, hiding the mutant arachnid in its depths. The slow orchestral music gradually grew in intensity as a group of humans skulked around an abandoned laboratory, and then - a giant spider leapt out of nowhere!

The sophomore jumped at the sudden scare, jostling the bag of popcorn. He bent down to pick up the scattered pieces on the driver’s side, thankful for the distraction from the screen. The teen absolutely hated spiders, and seeing one larger than a house terrorizing humans was beyond disturbing.

As the creature began to crawl around on its eight furry legs, Thorin trembled, hands clenching on his thighs. When its fangs wrapped around a woman’s body, Thorin grimaced, gaze dropping from the horrifying sight. He noticed Bilbo’s hand splayed out on the bench seat, fingers opened invitingly. Without a second thought, Thorin grabbed the hand with his own, holding tightly.

With the car turned off, the cold of night seeped through the metal frame. Thorin shivered, leaning closer to his – not-date. Bilbo’s hand slipped out of his grip, only for the teen to sling an arm around Thorin’s broad shoulders. His free hand grasped Thorin’s again, giving a gentle, comforting squeeze.

Even as the credits rolled across the screen, Thorin found himself unwilling to move away. Their shoulders brushed together lightly, and Bilbo seemed to radiate the heat which Thorin so desperately craved.

As Thorin turned to the other teen, Bilbo smiled knowingly. “How’d you like it?” he asked.

“I’m not going to be sleeping tonight,” Thorin grumbled.

Bilbo snorted, rolling his eyes. But as he looked back over, his amused smirk was quickly replaced with a frown. “What, haven’t you seen a horror flick before?” he asked.

“No,” Thorin admitted.

For a moment, Bilbo looked conflicted, almost genuinely apologetic for his teasing. But the look quickly morphed into another grin as he said, “Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll protect you.”

Thorin shifted uncomfortably, glancing out the windshield at the other moviegoers. Thankfully it was too dark to see anyone, meaning their own not-date had the privacy of darkness as well.

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered finally. “I’m not a girl.”

“I know,” Bilbo countered, eyeing Thorin’s form suggestively.

“I’m not gay,” Thorin blurted out suddenly.

Bilbo stared at him dubiously. “Really? Because I’ve got a pretty good eye for these things. You have to,” he said, muttering, “It’s like a survival instinct.”

Thorin gulped, feeling suffocated in the too-small car. “We can’t be together,” he insisted.

“Says who?”

“Says – everyone!” Thorin exclaimed, extricating himself from Bilbo’s lax grip.

“You like me,” Bilbo continued.

“Yeah, but I’m not supposed to!”

As soon as the words slipped out of Thorin’s mouth, he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. This was it – not only would Bilbo tease him mercilessly, but no doubt the whole school would find out before sunrise. He would be in _so much trouble_ – his parents would find out, he would be ostracized from his peers, and all for what?

“I could never be with you,” Thorin said quietly, refusing to lift his head. “You’re just some poser greaser.”

The teen swallowed thickly, desperate to erase the bitter taste the words left in his mouth. They felt wrong; Thorin’s stomach churned nauseatingly, but how could the statement be anything but the truth?

Before Thorin could wallow in his inner turmoil, the door slammed shut. Thorin’s head whipped up, narrowed eyes barely making out Bilbo’s form. He leaned across the seat, desperately turning the crank to roll down the passenger window.

“Bilbo!” he shouted.

Unfortunately the teen’s motorcycle had remained parked right next to Thorin’s father’s car, and he was speeding away into the darkness before Thorin could have even opened his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SWEAR, way back when I wrote this chapter, they were supposed to kiss! Apparently they weren't ready, guys :/


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sitting here studying for my psych final Tuesday (wish me luck, guys!!! I need an A+!) and I realized it's Sunday, durr!! How could I forget about these two angsty schmoops? <3

It had been three days since the movie, and Bilbo and Thorin had not talked since. It was strange – he had not realized what an impact Bilbo had on his life until the other teen was gone. They used to talk every day; at the time, Thorin would always push Bilbo away, annoyed by his persistent flirting. But now he found he missed the greaser more than he would have thought possible.

While Thorin loved school for the learning aspect, he hated everything else. It was hard to enjoy when you spent every break alone, if not trying to actively avoid everyone else. Bilbo had kindled in him a spark of happiness; a simple pleasure, easily overlooked and unappreciated. Without even realizing, Thorin had been excited to go to school, walking down the halls with a spring in his step, heart fluttering with anticipation. Would he see him? Would they talk? What would Bilbo say _this_ time?

But three days later, it seemed what they had – whatever strange, indefinable thing it had been – was lost forever.

Thorin sighed, stuffing the last bite of buttered toast into his mouth. He ruffled his young sister, Dís’s, hair on the way to the counter, placing his plate in the sink.

“Thorin!” his mother, Freyja, tutted behind him. “You didn’t tuck your shirt in at the back!”

Thorin heaved a sigh as his mother fussed with his outfit, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles and turning him around to even re-arrange his glasses.

“Mama,” the teen groaned. “I’m sixteen, I don’t need you dressing me.”

His mother snorted, smoothing down wayward strands. “Dress yourself decently, and I won’t have to.”

Thorin muttered half-heartedly before giving his mother a quick peck on the cheek.

“Have a good day at school, dear,” she said, grabbing his shoulders to straighten his tie. “And tell your brother to stop watching the television already!”

Thorin rolled his eyes, yelling, “Frerin, come eat breakfast!”

He bent down to grab his satchel, about to head out when his father looked up from his newspaper, pinning the boy with a hard gaze.

“I found something in my car yesterday, Thorin,” he said.

The teen paused, looking back at his father in genuine confusion.

“Now, I didn’t lend you my car thinking you were _really_ going out with friends,” Thráin continued. “But you have to be careful, especially with those senior girls.” For a moment, his fatherly visage fell away, replaced with a nauseatingly saucy grin. Freyja noticed, slapping her husband’s arm with a dishtowel.

“Older women, my behind!” she scolded, laughing gaily.

Thorin frowned, looking between his parents in bemusement. “What older women?” he asked, shifting uncomfortably.

Thráin sighed, reaching into his pocket before tossing something to his son. Thorin fumbled to catch the small object, opening his palm to reveal…

 _Oh._  The boy’s cheeks flushed as he recognized the small piece of metal – a class ring. And it could only be Bilbo’s.

Thráin chuckled, turning back to his newspaper. “We’ll discuss this later, son,” he dismissed.

Thorin raced off without another word, mind whirling. He couldn’t believe that Bilbo’s class ring was dropped in the car. It seemed so unlikely that a piece of jewellery would just slip off like that. But the _how_ was not so important – Thorin could not _believe_ he was so lucky. Naturally his father’s first conclusion would not be that Thorin had been on a date with another boy – not that it _had_ been a date, of course. But he felt a great sense of relief knowing his father was none the wiser.

Now he would go to school, return the ring to Bilbo (and he ignored the aching butterflies in his stomach at the thought), and likely suffer an embarrassing talk tonight with his awkward father.

 

Thorin looked over his shoulder for the third time, cursing his own complete lack of subtlety.

For three days he had not seen Bilbo, not a single golden hair from his slicked-back curls, and now, here the greaser was. Propped up against a locker down the hall as he talked to a  _girl._  She had curly black hair spilling from a ponytail high on the right side of her head. Her bright yellow poodle skirt was perfectly pleated, matching her yellow knitted sweater. Even her socks and sneakers were pristinely white. She probably had stylish cat’s-eye glasses, unlike Thorin’s bulky, lame peepers.

Thorin casually stood at his own locker, trying to look like he had a reason to still be there instead of scurrying to his next class like usual. But Bilbo hadn’t even glanced over once. And from the way he seemed engrossed in his conversation, it looked like he didn’t even miss Thorin at all.

The girl giggled, flicking her long silky locks over her shoulder. Thorin could never flirt so casually; his hair was prone to knots if he didn’t brush it out very carefully, morning and night. The teen slammed his locker door with a bang, startling a couple standing a few feet away from him. His heart raced, veins throbbing with absolute rage as he stormed towards Bilbo. The greaser looked up as he approached, nose twitching curiously. There was no sly smile, no teasing glint in his bright eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” Thorin said gruffly, narrowing his eyes at Bilbo’s companion.

The girl looked him up and down before giving a derisive roll of her eyes, chewing her gum obnoxiously loudly before blowing a huge pink bubble.

“We’ll talk later, Lobelia,” Bilbo said, not bothering to even glance at the girl before walking away. Thorin trailed behind, both boys ignoring Lobelia’s irate squawking.

“I don’t have long,” Bilbo said as he led them down a hallway, glaring at the single occupant before the freshman grabbed his books and ran off.

“I just came to give you this,” Thorin grumbled, shoving the ring toward the other teenager. The metal had been burning a hole in Thorin’s pocket all morning; he could barely focus in class, fingers fidgeting with it ceaselessly. It had warmed to his skin, and the teen could half-imagine it was Bilbo’s residual heat.

Bilbo stared at the object, lips pursing and brows furrowing, though he made no move to grab it. Finally he looked away, crossing his arms across his chest. Nose twitching, he said, “It’s yours.”

Thorin sighed, shaking his open palm. “We both know I’m just a sophomore,” he said, suddenly tired of Bilbo’s strange games. “Just take it.”

Bilbo ran a hand through his carefully coiffed hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. When he pulled away, the slicked-back, effortless look had been destroyed, curls falling into his face.

“I was going to give it to you,” he confessed, voice soft and vulnerable

Thorin almost dropped the ring, the weight of the metal suddenly growing exponentially. But the shock was soon replaced with a heated flare of anger. “Just stop it!” he yelled, fingers closing into a fist lest he throw the metal at the shorter boy’s head. “I’m done playing these games with you, just take the damn ring!”

“It’s yours, and I don’t care who knows!” Bilbo shouted back, arms thrown in the air. “Wear it, or throw it out – I don’t care anymore!”

“But that’s…” Thorin trailed off as his head spun. “I mean, we’re not even dating!”

How could Bilbo give Thorin his class ring? His _class ring?_ Surely the senior should know the significance of such an action…

Bilbo’s low, cold voice interrupted the sophomore’s whirling thoughts. “No,” he muttered. “You made that clear already.”

The greaser turned on his feet, large boots stomping against the ground as he stormed off. Thorin watched, stomach churning in conflict. “Bilbo!” he called, hoarse voice tapering off. As the second bell rang, the hall became busy once again, tardy students racing off to their next class. Thorin slipped the ring back in his pocket without another thought, joining the rush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Giving someone your class ring symbolized you were going steady together. Dating was a newly developing concept post-WWII, and going steady was a huge step. It was basically a way for teenagers to practice getting engaged. (Ahem, according to my research on Google.)


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay!!! This chapter was finished literally months ago, but when I got thrown back into work and uni... well, somehow two Sundays had passed without me posting anything! Now it is Sunday evening, but at least it still counts :0

“This is getting absolutely ridiculous. Must I call your mother? Have her come down for a chat with the principal?”

Thorin skidded to a halt, pausing just before he turned the corner. He was not one to eavesdrop or gossip, but it would be rather humiliating to walk past a heated argument. If he was lucky, he could wait it out. Mr. Cavendish had always liked Thorin, and hopefully wouldn’t scold him for taking longer in the washroom than truly necessary.

“If you don’t get your act together, you won’t be graduating. Is that what you want? To be held back another year?”

It was almost as if the teacher was talking to a figment of her imagination, given the stretch of silence that followed.

“You’re already a year behind. All your peers have moved on to senior-level classes, and you’re stuck in junior. You’re seriously limiting yourself. Don’t you want to be something when you grow up?”

Finally there came a response from the berated student in the form of a snort. “As if I’d go anywhere,” a boy muttered, followed by the metal clang of something impacting a locker.

“The only one limiting you is yourself, Bilbo.”

Thorin gulped, reflexively twiddling the ring on his finger. He shouldn’t be here, he really, really shouldn’t – he should just turn around and walk away. The school was big; surely there was another way back to class –

“Consider getting a tutor,” the teacher continued, interrupting Thorin’s internal panic.

“Can’t afford that, Mrs. B,” Bilbo replied sardonically.

The teacher retorted, “Stop spending so much money on cigarettes and hair products, Bilbo. Invest in your future – you’re the one who decides if you have one.”

There was the clack of heels against the linoleum as the teacher returned to her class. Soon after, Bilbo could be heard stomping down the hall. Thorin heaved a sigh of relief as the footsteps dissipated in the distance. Collecting himself, he rushed back to class.

 

Bilbo’s troubled situation proved to be a great distraction for the rest of Thorin’s day. He could barely concentrate in class, thinking of the senior’s deprecating, hopeless tone.  _ How could he be so despairing? _ Thorin wondered.  _ What happened for him to give up on himself already? _

If he failed a class, he could always take summer school in the hopes of graduating just a bit later than his peers. But from the sounds of it, Bilbo would not even bother with such a thing. Besides, summer school was for squares like Thorin – if anything, Bilbo probably thought he was too  _ cool _ for such a thing.

During a particularly boring stretch of English – he had already read ahead in the novel they were studying – Thorin began brainstorming ways to help. And by the time the bell rang to go home, the sophomore had one conclusion: he would tutor Bilbo himself.

Bilbo was not hard to find. Lounging on their motorcycles, he and his crew were parked outside of the school, smoking and carousing about.

No, locating Bilbo was not the problem – it was summoning the courage just to go and talk to him.

When Thorin had been driven to approach the greaser in the past, he had almost always been fuelled by burning rage. Without that white-hot anger coursing through his system, however, the sophomore found it rather difficult.

But this was for Bilbo’s sake, he reminded himself. Not to mention, Thorin was no longer sure where they stood with each other – perhaps, just maybe, this would help them clear things up.

He would be happy to count the senior amongst his friends, that is.

As Thorin approached, a couple of the hoodlums looked his way. The sophomore gulped as he locked eyes with one of them. The man (he really didn’t look like a  _ boy _ , not at all) had a completely shaved head, a jagged white-pink line running over his right eye. He nudged the person closest to him, a guy with his hair slicked into three strange points. Soon the entire gang was looking his way, snickering amongst themselves.

Thorin’s face flushed, his steps almost faltering as his palms became slick with nervous sweat.  _ What was he thinking _ , he berated himself.  _ Stupid, stupid – a loser like him had no place approaching a cool guy like Bilbo _ .

In spite of himself, he glanced up one last time – Bilbo had turned around, watching him closely. As another one of his friends laughed, Bilbo gave him a hard slug in the shoulder. The gang members seemed to sober up, their laughter dying down as Bilbo swung his leg over his bike, making his way over.

“What do you want?” he called as he approached, arms crossed around his chest stand-offishly.

Thorin adjusted his glasses nervously, glancing over Bilbo’s shoulder. The hoodlums were still looking their way, obviously intrigued. Bilbo sighed, kicking his boot into the ground.

“Ignore them,” he instructed coolly. “And tell me what you want already.”

“I know I’m just a sophomore,” Thorin mumbled. “But I’m taking junior-level courses in a few subjects.” 

Bilbo’s lips pursed tightly. “So?” he demanded harshly.

“I can help you.”

Bilbo glanced up, brows knitted together tightly as he considered. Finally he huffed, lips curving upwards into a wry smile. “You were listening, huh?” he asked bitterly. “I thought you were cooler than that.”

“It was an accident!” Thorin insisted, heart stuttering when Bilbo turned around, making to go back to his group. Without thinking, the sophomore reached out, fingers grasping a worn leather sleeve.

Bilbo whipped around, arm raised as if he planned to push Thorin away. But he froze, eyes locked on Thorin’s hand on his sleeve. Thorin dropped his hand, but not before realizing what had caught Bilbo’s gaze – on his third finger was Bilbo’s class ring.

The sophomore slid his hand into the pocket of his khakis, face burning as he stuttered for an excuse. It was silly - Thorin had put the ring on simply because he did not wish to risk losing it. And he had merely forgotten to take it off.

“Righto, Daddy-O.”

Glancing back up, Thorin’s jaw dropped at the huge grin on Bilbo’s face. His entire face seem to glow with happiness, his smile wide enough to reveal an adorable dimple on his right cheek.

“You can help me all you want,” he invited with a wink. “I’ll catch ya later, sugar.”

As the greaser turned around and sauntered back to his group, Thorin stood in stunned silence. Belatedly he snapped up his jaw, but he was still unable to tear his eyes away from Bilbo’s shimmying behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We call grades and classes something else in Canada, so if I got it wrong, let me know!


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's stuck around - things have been horrible IRL lately, so I probably won't be able to (and haven't been able to) keep up with bi-weekly updates. More likely once a month. My uni semester ends with finals in April, so I will have more flexibility then :)

Thorin would start off by helping Bilbo with trigonometry and algebra. He spent his entire day shaky with anticipation, nervous yet excited for their first study session.

As the bell finally rang for the end of the day, Thorin charged towards his locker, putting away his unneeded textbooks and packing his bag for home.

He scanned the hallways for a familiar face, but they were still crowded. Instead he took a moment to comb his fingers through his hair and adjust his sweater vest. When there was still no sign of Bilbo, he headed outside. 

_ Please be here, please be here _ , he found himself chanting silently. He wasn’t sure what reason Bilbo would have for not showing up, and as it turned out, there wasn’t one.

Bilbo leaned against a large tree near the front entrance, puffing on a cigarette as he casually waited. The sun glistened in his hair, creating beautiful highlights of gold.

“What took you so long?” he asked as Thoin quickly approached.

“I thought - uh, nothing,” he quickly cut himself off. No need to let Bilbo know Thorin had been waiting at his locker like some sort of chump.

“Should we go to the library?” Thorin offered.

Bilbo clucked his tongue. “Too many people,” he said.

“Okay,” Thorin said, more of a question than an agreement. “My brother and sister will be home, so we could go to your place?”

“That’s not a good idea,” Bilbo replied immediately.

“Where do you live, anyway?” Thorin asked. He realized the greaser knew where he lived, but Thorin had no idea where Bilbo lived. They probably lived close to each other - there were a lot of people from school in Thorin's neighbourhood.

Bilbo stiffened, pinching the butt of his cigarette tightly between his fingers. “Why does it matter?” he snarled.

Thorin looked away, shrugging slightly. “Just wondering,” he explained lamely.

Bilbo was silent for a moment before saying, “You wanna sneak into my room at night?” He was back to his usual playfulness, but his voice was still tight and when Thorin looked over, Bilbo wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“You wish,” Thorin muttered.

“Ha!”  Bilbo laughed, a smile returning to his face once more. “Good one, superstar.”

Thorin flushed, kicking the ground awkwardly. “So, my place?” he asked.

“That is, if you don’t mind bringing me home,” Bilbo joked.

“Of course not!” Thorin said, perhaps a little too quickly.

As Bilbo led him towards his rusted motorcycle, Thorin groaned audibly. “The death machine?” he complained.

“Just hold me tight like you did last time,” Bilbo instructed with a wink. “You’ll be fine.”

 

Once again, by the time they arrived at Thorin’s house, the teen was feeling shaky and beyond relieved. He led Bilbo up to the front porch, although the senior hung back.

“Your parents home?” Bilbo asked as he stayed on the front lawn.

“Just mama,” Thorin said. “I mean, my mother. And my younger brother and sister.” Thorin was just about to unlock the front door when he noticed Bilbo fidgeting, as though agitated. He had never seen the greaser look so unconfident, as though Bilbo were actually nervous about something.

“You alright?” Thorin asked, eyeing the senior with concern.

“I’m cool,” Bilbo said firmly, belatedly joining Thorin on the porch. “Let’s go inside already, you spaz.”

As Thorin stepped inside, he called, “Mama!”, not noticing Bilbo’s wince.

“Thorin, I thought you were busy tod-” Freyja appeared in the foyer, eyes widening as she noticed the guest. “Oh, dear me!” she exclaimed as she smoothed down her apron. “You must be Thorin’s friend!” she greeted warmly, holding out her hand for Bilbo to shake.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs. Durin,” Bilbo responded formally.

“So polite!” Freyja crooned. “Can I get you boys anything?”

“We’re going to go study in my room,” Thorin explained.

“Why don’t I bring you up some snacks?” Freyja offered, squeezing both their arms before bustling off to the kitchen.

“I didn’t know you could be so polite,” Thorin teased as he watched Bilbo remove his clunky boots and place them neatly on the shoe rack.

Bilbo snorted. "I wasn't born in a cave," he retorted, softly slugging Thorin's arm before following the sophomore inside.

“This is your room?” Bilbo asked in amazement as they stepped inside.

Thorin scowled immediately, checking the pristinely cleaned room. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” Bilbo replied casually, plopping onto the plush twin bed.

“I usually study at the desk,” Thorin said, motioning to the wooden furniture. “I can grab another chair for you.”   
“Nah,” Bilbo said, “I prefer your bed.” he patted the empty spot next to him invitingly, disarming Thorin with a crooked, boyish grin.

Thorin begrudgingly sat down, leaving a good two feet between them.

“What are you guys learning right now?”

Bilbo merely shrugged. “Beats me,” he said.

“Do you know what chapter you’re on at least?”

Bilbo’s nose scrunched up adorably. “Wait, you actually want to study?” the senior asked, taken aback.

“I told you I was going to tutor you,” Thorin drawled, unsure as to where the confusion was coming from.

“Why don’t I teach you a thing or two instead?” Bilbo offered flirtatiously.

“I’m tutoring you in algebra,” Thorin said firmly, pulling out the textbook. “And that’s it.”

Bilbo sighed dramatically, stretching his arms over his head before collapsing back on Thorin’s comforter. “Chapter seven,” he finally admitted.

“A lot of people struggle with this at first,” Thorin said as he looked over the curriculum.

“Don’t patronize me,” grumbled Bilbo.

Thorin exhaled slowly, already weary from their session. “Just – sit up, so I can teach you properly.”

“But I like the view from over here,” Bilbo said lazily.

Thorin jumped from his bed as the door swung open, clutching the textbook to his hammering chest.

“I brought some snacks for you two!” Freyja explained cheerily, placing a tray of assorted fruits, cookies, and juice on the desk.

“Thank you, mama,” Thorin replied weakly.

Bilbo stood as well, clearing his throat as he smoothed down his hair. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Durin.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” Thorin’s mother instructed, waving Bilbo off with a charmed smile. “Now don’t let me distract you two!”

Thorin collapsed back on the bed as she left, closing the door behind her. Bilbo snickered, cooing, “You’re so comely when you blush.”

“Shut up,” Thorin grumbled, opening the textbook once more. “Now, Pythagoras’ theorem…”

Bilbo wasn’t a bad student at all. At least, not when it came to explaining things. He retained more information than Thorin expected, almost always answering correctly.

In fact, Bilbo’s problem didn’t seem to be with his intelligence. It was his attention span. He strayed off topic constantly, mostly trying to get under Thorin’s skin with flirtatious comments. According to him, he wanted to see how red Thorin could get. He also tried to convince Thorin that every right answer deserved a  _ kiss _ , and pouted adorably when Thorin’s response was an adamant  _ no _ .

But as the clocked ticked closer to six, Bilbo grew more agitated. Finally at five forty-five, he jumped up from his position sprawled out on Thorin’s mattress.

“Your father is coming home soon, isn’t he?” Bilbo asked.

“He usually gets here around six,” Thorin answered. “Why?”

“I should go,” Bilbo said instead.

“Why?” Thorin asked again as Bilbo began packing his few things.

“As much as I’d love to, I can’t spend all night with you, sugar,” Bilbo explained vaguely. “I’ve got my own things to do.”

“O-okay,” Thorin responded unsurely, somewhat deflating with this revelation.

“Don’t worry, doll,” Bilbo said as he slung his bag over his shoulder. He grinned crookedly, head cocked to the side. “We’ve got plenty more make-out sessions ahead of us.”

“Good,” Thorin said without thinking, flushing as Bilbo shook with laughter.

“There we go!” Bilbo cried, pointing at Thorin’s flustered face. “Just like a tomato!”

“Shut up,” Thorin grumbled as he pushed past the chuckling senior, towards the front door.

“Don’t worry,” Bilbo whispered as he followed. “It just makes me want to kiss you even more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment below to let me know what you think, and [find me on tumblr](airebellah.tumblr.com) under the same name!


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still Sunday where I live...yay!
> 
> Midterm & paper due this week on top of work - wish me luck!

Thorin would never admit it to himself, much less to  _ Bilbo _ , but he actually enjoyed their study sessions. There was far more to the greaser than Thorin would have ever imagined, though his flirting proved to be unending. But Thorin would say he was almost getting used to the teasing comments - and blushing far less often, much to his peer’s disappointment.

And if Bilbo’s flirting and their mutual banter left Thorin with a fluttery stomach, it was not something Thorin was willing to face just yet.

Thorin found it hard to believe Bilbo was failing classes so miserably, as he was actually quite an astute student. He wondered if perhaps ditching class was the true problem here, not so much a lack of studying. He had been working up to asking - anything personal caused Bilbo to shut down instantly, or else he simply gave a too-breezy reply. Getting genuine answers was proving to be an impossible endeavor.

Thorin’s bedroom became their usual study hangout; Bilbo seemed to reciprocate Thorin’s desire to go straight upstairs with each session, though likely their desires for privacy stemmed from two  _ very  _ different reasons. But one afternoon they walked into the house to find Freyja bustling around, Dis following her around with a petulant frown.

“Hi, Bilbo,” Freyja greeted warmly, not giving the greaser enough time to reply before turning to her son. “I completely forgot Dis has a playdate with a friend, do you mind keeping an eye on Frerin while I walk her over?”

“But ma –” Thorin grumbled, only to be interrupted.

“Sure thing, Mrs. Durin!” Bilbo promised, giving Thorin’s mother a smile Thorin had previously thought may only be for him.

“Oh, aren’t you a dear?” Freyja sighed. “Perhaps you will teach my son some manners as well, while you’re at it!”

Thorin snorted, only proving his mother’s point as she rolled her eyes in mock exaggeration. “I’m only dropping her off, then coming home to make some dinner – oh, Bilbo!” She turned to the guest, ignoring Dis’ insistent tugging on her hand. “Perhaps you can finally stay for dinner?”

Bilbo blinked in surprise, clearly as taken aback as Thorin was. But then he was grinning slyly, shooting Thorin a secret wink. “That’s a very generous offer, Mrs. Durin,” he replied sweetly. “I really appreciate it.”

“Why don’t you call your parents and ask?” Freyja offered as Dis pulled on her hand impatiently.

Bilbo’s nose twitched, a quirk Thorin had grown to know belied his nervousness. “I’ll do that,” he said, somewhat stiffly.

Laughing, Freyja waved the boys goodbye as she was quickly tugged down the driveway by Thorin’s little sister.

Thorin closed and locked the front door before taking off his shoes. “Bilbo, are you really -” he began to ask, only to look up and see the teen was gone.

“Hi, Frerin!” he heard Bilbo announce in his usual cheery tone.

Bilbo had not spent much time with Thorin’s family - Thorin was always quick to usher the greaser upstairs; not that he was ashamed or anything, but they had lots of important studying to do, and Bilbo never hung around past six o’clock. So it was new for Bilbo to be heading towards their living room.

Frerin muttered a glum greeting, one Thorin would have smacked the back of his head for if the sophomore wasn’t casually lingering in the hallway. Frerin was normally upbeat and friendly, but stick him in front of the television, and he was entranced.

Bilbo’s surprised gasp had Thorin hurrying into the room, only to stop short in confusion.

Bilbo stood by the couch at Frerin’s head, staring ahead with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

“You have a colour television?” he asked, sounding surprisingly amazed. He hopped onto the couch, glancing over at Thorin as he spotted an empty space beside him. “We gotta watch some!”

“Why?” Thorin scowled. “Don’t you have one?”

Frerin turned up the volume with a small huff just as Bilbo’s shoulders stiffened. “Of course,” the greaser bit out scathingly. “Just waiting to replace our old black-and-white one with the new colour model.”

Thorin frowned, silent before mumbling a half-hearted, “Alright.”

“You have a test in two days,” Thorin prompted in the continued silence.

Bilbo let out a heavy sigh, heaving himself from the couch as though it were a true struggle. “Alright,” he parroted.

 

Thorin ran a hand through his long hair as he sighed in aggravation. Bilbo had been terse and unresponsive for the past hour, barely listening to Thorin’s tutoring in sullen silence.

“C equals thirteen point three-four,” the greaser mumbled.

Thorin gripped the textbook, knuckles turning white as he reeled in his temper. “If you know all the answers,” he growled. “Why are you wasting my time?”

“Is that what this is?” Bilbo countered, voice dangerously icy. “I’m just a waste of your precious time?”

“No,” Thorin answered hastily. “But at least we could do something else -”

“Oh, really?” Bilbo asked, leaping from the bed. “Would you still be spending time with me without the excuse of tutoring? What would you tell your family - would they even know about me?”

“Wh-why wouldn’t they?” Thorin stuttered, cheeks heating slightly.

“Would you stop beatin’ around the damn bush?” Bilbo exclaimed. “I  _ like _ you! When will you get your head out of your ass and accept that you like me, too?”

“I - I…”

“What do I have to do,” Bilbo continued, the anger in his voice quickly replaced with a painful desperation. “To make you trust me?”

“Bilbo, I -”

“Thorin!” Freyja’s voice called from frighteningly close by. “Could you boys come down for a moment?”

Bilbo shouldered his way past Thorin, though Thorin should not have been so surprised to find he was too polite to stomp down the stairs. Pushing away a ludicrous pang of guilt, he  quickly followed, mind still reeling from the greaser’s words.

Freyja was leaning over the stove, stirring a large, steaming pot. “Bilbo, I hope you like pasta!”

“Very much, Mrs. Durin!” Bilbo replied cheerfully without missing a beat. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Oh, would you boys mind setting the table? Thorin, show him where the plates are - only five, please; Dis is staying for dinner at her friend’s.”

Thorin silently gathered the plates, gesturing vaguely at the cutlery drawer for Bilbo. The teen followed him to the dining room, Thorin avoiding Bilbo’s eyes as they set the table up together.

Thorin left, returning soon with the glasses. Bilbo stood by the decorative table against the far wall, staring at the array of photographs. The sophomore flushed, realizing Bilbo was looking at his unflattering pictures from childhood.

“Is this your father?” Bilbo asked, voice barely audible.

Thorin frowned, coming over to stand behind the shorter teen. But his lips pulled into a faint smile, shoulders straightening proudly as he stared at a picture of Thrain in uniform, recently returned from Europe.

“He fought bravely in the war,” Thorin said, unable and unwilling to keep the pride from his voice. “They gave him a medal of valor for all that he did for our country. He’s a hero.”

Thorin stared at the photograph, chest warm with pride. He had been quite young during the second war, but he remembered seeing his dad for the first time after their victory. He remembered all the stories in vivid detail, of Thrain helping defeat the Nazi scum, leading his own platoon into enemy land and freeing oppressed civilians.

“He’ll be coming for dinner, won’t he?” Bilbo mumbled.

“Of course,” Thorin grunted.

Bilbo turned away, shoulders hunching. “I can’t stay,” he whispered.

“Very dashing in his uniform, Thorin’s father!” Freyja interrupted for the second time that night as she came into the room carrying a large jug of lemonade.

For once Bilbo had nothing to say, eyes downcast as he turned toward his host. “Did you get an answer from your parents, dear?” she asked.

“I-I,” Bilbo was the one to stutter this time, staunchly avoiding Thorin’s puzzled frown. “I just remembered… my grandmother - I was supposed to visit her today after school, she’s probably waiting for me.”

“Bilbo, what are you talking about?” Thorin hissed.

“I have to go,” was all he said, glancing at the pictures once more before hurrying from the room.

“Thorin, is everything all right?” Freyja murmured, frowning in concern at Bilbo’s retreating back.

Ignoring his mother’s concern, Thorin stormed off, slamming the front door shut as he hurried down the driveway. Bilbo was already straddling his motorcycle, adjusting himself on the seat.

“What the hell!” Thorin yelled.

“Thorin,” Bilbo sighed. “ _ Don’t. _ Not now.”

“I thought you liked me!” the teen hissed. “It’s all a joke, isn’t it? You say you’re serious, then you can’t even stay for dinner!”

“It’s not like that, Thorin,” Bilbo said automatically.

“Then stay!” he shouted, waving at his house. “Just stay for dinner, and prove to me that you’re not just looking for some cheap joke at my expense!”

“Thorin…” Bilbo stared up at him, eyes wide and beseeching. “Don’t ask me to do this.”

“Fine,” Thorin grunted. “I won’t ask anything of you.”

Silence followed Thorin back to his house. Silence, then the sound of a motor starting before Bilbo’s bike raced off down the street.

Not a moment later, Thrain pulled up in the driveway, tired from a long day of work and relieved to have a nice home-cooked meal with his family.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more month... and I can be free of uni!!!!
> 
> Long chapter ahead.. yay!

Thorin and Bilbo had fallen into a routine of studying together three days a week; it wasn’t entirely unusual for Thorin to not see the greaser at all between sessions. For once, Thorin was actually glad for it - he needed some time to cool down, still brimming with anger at Bilbo’s abrupt departure the previous night.

When the bell rang on Wednesday afternoon, Thorin headed outside to Bilbo’s usual hangout. Nowhere to be found, Thorin headed back to his locker - _empty_ \- then back outside once more.

He waited thirty minutes before walking home, ignoring the sting of rejection. He shrugged it off, blaming it on the poor terms they had left things on earlier that week.

When another day passed with no sign of Bilbo, and another, Thorin began to worry.

By Monday afternoon, Thorin gritted his teeth and decided action had to be taken.

He was going to approach one of Bilbo’s cronies.

It was easier said than done; they were always together, crowded in a group as they smoked and joshed around. As much as Thorin wanted to know what was going on with Bilbo, which was a startling amount, he was determined to wait until he found one of Bilbo’s friends alone.

As the bell rang for the end of the day, Thorin rushed outside, hoping to catch someone in the group before anyone else arrived. When he saw who it was, however, he gulped nervously. Thorin did not know his name, but he remembered the student clearly from the last time Thorin had approached Bilbo amongst his friends. He was surprisingly taller than Thorin, with huge bulky muscles.

 _Why did it have to be the bald one,_ Thorin mused despairingly as he forced himself forward. The teen stared at Thorin as he approached, though he did not look surprised.

“He’s not here,” the teen warned gruffly before Thorin had even a chance to speak. Something must have betrayed Thorin’s surprise, for he added, “Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on with ye two.”

Thorin scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he defended immediately. “I’m his tutor and he hasn’t been showing up for lessons so I -”

“He’s not here,” the teen repeated.

“Then tell me where he is!” Thorin exclaimed, quickly losing his patience.

“Ye care about ‘im?” the teen asked instead. Thorin scoffed, crossing his arms as he glared into the distance. “Good,” the bald-headed youth grunted, as though Thorin had instead gushed, _yes, yes, of course I care about him._ “Then don’t hurt ‘im.”

“I am his tutor,” Thorin reiterated through clenched teeth.

The other student’s back straightened, muscles flexing intimidatingly as he stared him down. “Don’t hurt ‘im.”

“I don’t intend to,” Thorin said finally, surprised by his own words.

“Got a pen?”

Thorin pulled one out even as he asked, “Why?”

The teen grabbed the pen and yanked Thorin’s sleeve up to reveal his bare forearm. Before Thorin could even begin to protest, his skin was smeared with ink.

“If he wants ye to know, he can tell ye himself,” the youth said as Thorin examined the messy address tattooed on his skin. “Tell ‘im Dwalin sent ya.”

Thorin’s eyes narrowed. “And is Dwalin the name of one of your other friends?”

The teen, supposedly Dwalin, gave a barking laugh before harshly slapping Thorin on the back. “ I can see why he likes ye,” he said, leaving Thorin an embarrassed mess.

 

It took Thorin a long time to find Bilbo’s apartment building. It was a part of town he had never been to before - he wouldn’t say it was _rough,_ no, just… less affluent. He knew it was ridiculous, yet he gripped his backpack a little more tightly as he wound around the maze-like streets.

He had never lived in an apartment building, so he had no way of knowing if the entrance being unlocked was merely the norm, but it certainly didn’t sit well with him. The wood flooring was rickety, the enclosed stairwell stank of acrid smoke and sour alcohol.

Pushing the doorway onto the third floor, Thorin tried to be as quiet as possible as he glanced at every house number. It was irrational at best, but he did not want to disturb any other residents. Finally he came to a stop at peeling green paint surrounding dull brass letters: 305.

Raising his hand to knock, he froze, hit by a sudden, dizzyingly horrifying thought. What if this was just some kind of joke? What if it was a fake address or… a purposefully terrible one? Thorin wasn’t naive, he knew people lived like this - not everyone was as fortunate as himself. But surely no one at his school, not a peer, not… _Bilbo._

Taking a deep breath, Thorin squared his shoulders. This was pointless - if he left now without finding out, it would eat at him relentlessly. He wasn’t some wuss to just walk away. Forcing forged certainty into his limbs, Thorin knocked on the door before stepping back a polite distance to wait.

The door slowly creaked open, chain locking expose a few inches of an old woman. She wore an outdated, shabby cotton dress, her face etched with wrinkles, her curly hair white and thinning.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked, voice tight as she glanced him up and down appraisingly.

“Does Bilbo Baggins live here?” Thorin asked, even more doubtful now.

The woman’s countenance changed suddenly as she straightened, hand gripping the door as though she intended to shut it on his face.

“What do you want?” she asked suspiciously.

“We have class together,” Thorin fudged slightly, oddly hopeful at the woman’s sudden hostility. “I haven’t seen him for a few days, and I just…I got worried. Is he all right?”

The earnest concern must have shown on Thorin’s face, for the woman’s expression softened ever so slightly. Nevertheless, she only vaguely revealed, “He’s been better. What’s your name?”

“Thorin Durin.”

The elderly woman nodded to herself before suddenly shutting the door. The sophomore’s jaw dropped, internally panicking as he heard the clicking and clanging of multiple locks.

“Ma’am?” he called, rapping on the door once more. “I really need to see him, please!”

There was no reply. He waited a few minutes, rubbing his lightly stubbled jaw as he weighed his options.

“Senile old woman,” he finally muttered as he turned to leave.

As the door began to unlock, Thorin turned back, hope renewed. Only to falter slightly as the same woman stood in the doorway, hands on her hips.

“I’m hardly senile, dear,” the woman chided gently as she gestured him in. “Nor am I deaf. Now come in before I change my mind.”

Thorin rushed in, all but tripping over himself with apologies. The woman merely waved him off with a good-natured laugh.

“Bilbo’s told me all about you,” she said with a familiar twinkle in her eye. “I know you’re just concerned for him, dearie.”

Thorin gulped nervously, wondering what Bilbo could have possibly said.

“Now, where are my manners?” the woman exclaimed suddenly, shaking her head at her own forgetfulness. “I’m Adamanta Took, Bilbo’s grandmother.”

Thorin shook the hand offered to him, oddly relieved at Mrs. Took’s approving nod.

“I just went to wake Bilbo up and tell him you’re here,” she explained as she guided Thorin further into the apartment. Thorin couldn’t help but glance around – much like Mrs. Took’s clothing, everything seemed like it had been purchased long before the war. Furniture was tattered and stained, the kitchen appliances were old, and there wasn’t even a television in the living room!

Thorin began to feel a little sick. He had never even realized – if he had known this was how Bilbo lived… He was such an idiot!

“He’s just a bit drowsy, dear,” Mrs. Took continued, unaware of Thorin’s inner turmoil. “He needs his rest, though, so try not to do anything too exciting.”

When Thorin failed to reply, Mrs. Took pinned him with a stern look. The sophomore gulped, nodding vigorously. “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed.

Mrs. Took stopped before a closed door, gently pushing it open. “Bilbo, sweetheart?” she called gently as she padded inside. She went to the bed, gently prodding the lump of blankets. Sighing, she motioned Thorin to come inside.

“Went back to sleep, the poor thing!” she whispered.

Thorin slowly made his way to her side, about to reply when his eyes landed on Bilbo’s unconscious form.

“What happened to him?” he exclaimed, staring in horror at the teen’s swollen, purple-blue face.

Mrs. Took rubbed her face wearily. Concern weighed down her wrinkled features, suddenly aging her. “He didn’t come home one day until nearing midnight, barely able to stand on his own. He won’t tell me what happened, though it’s quite obvious.”

“Obvious?” Thorin repeated dubiously.

“My grandson tries his best,” Mrs. Took explained sadly. “But sometimes he gets it into his head that he – well, it doesn’t matter. But he gets mixed up with the wrong crowd.”

“Do you think…gangsters did this to him?” Thorin asked, clenching his fists at his side as his arms shook with rage.

“Oh, I know they did,” Mrs. Took replied. “If only he’d tell me who, I’d –” The woman’s lips pursed as she trailed off, eyes blazing with anger. Thorin was left with no doubt that in her youth – perhaps even now – Mrs. Took would have given those responsible a good beating herself.

Bilbo stirred slightly, eyelids fluttering as he mumbled incomprehensibly.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone now,” Mrs. Took said as she made her way out. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” she called as she shut the door.

Thorin turned to the closed doorway with wide eyes, horrified by the implications.

 _Gods, I hope she was joking_ , he thought anxiously.

But everything melted away as soon as he turned back to Bilbo, his mind consumed with worry. Gingerly he sat down on the bed, careful not to crush Bilbo’s small form. Trying to distract himself from the horrifying mass of bruises, Thorin considered Bilbo’s hair. The senior looked so strange without it slicked back, though Thorin felt it was a welcome change. Large curls framed the teen’s face, as beautiful as the purest gold. The sophomore’s fingers itched to reach out and twirl a lock around his finger, find out if it was as smooth as it looked.

“Thorin?” Bilbo mumbled groggily.

“I’m here,” Thorin replied immediately.

“Really?” Bilbo asked, eyelids fluttering. Thorin was treated to the sight of only one hazel orb, the other eye too swollen to open.

“I’m right here, Bilbo,” he repeated.

The senior groaned softly, struggling to turn his head towards his guest. “You come to play nurse?” he asked cheekily, even as his words slurred together.

Thorin snorted, though he was glad to see his friend was still in good spirits. “What did the doctor say?”

“Nothing,” Bilbo mumbled. “Just need a few kisses.”

Thorin huffed at the quick flirtation. “Shall I go get your grandmother?” he offered.

Bilbo chuckled, though Thorin was filled with guilt when he saw the pain it caused. “He prescribed you specifically. Thorin – Thorin Durin.”

“I see,” Thorin hummed noncommittally . “What did he really say, Bilbo?’

“Nothing,” Bilbo said once more. “No doctor.”

Thorin froze. “You didn’t see a doctor? Bilbo, what if something’s broken, or punctured, or worse!”

“Too expensive, dollface,” Bilbo explained tiredly. His hand slowly wormed its way from underneath the blankets, scraped knuckles brushing against Thorin’s own hand. The sophomore grabbed it immediately, giving a gentle squeeze.

“Bilbo, you have to see a doctor,” he ushered. “Just a quick check-up at least, I can go with you –”

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, voice hardening through his drug-induced haze. “Stop.”

Thorin gulped, taking a moment to look around the room. The bed noticeably creaked whenever he shifted, and the blankets covering Bilbo were thin and threadbare. His room lacked furniture, save for a sparse closet and a wicker laundry basket filled with rumpled clothes.

“Alright,” Thorin finally agreed, trying to hide his concern. He had never realized Bilbo… had so little. He had always assumed Bilbo came from money, like himself. Then again, the greaser’s jacket and boots could easily be the same, day after day. And even to Thorin’s untrained eyes, the motorcycle was hardly new, what with its peeling paint and rusting sides. He had always assumed, though never asked, it was nostalgic - perhaps an heirloom or hand-me-down.

“You’ve at least got something for the pain?” he asked belatedly.

Bilbo jerked his chin towards the tiny table at his bedside. Thorin picked up a bottle of pills, reading the prescription. Codeine. One tablet as necessary. BUNGO BAGGINS.

“Bungo,” Thorin murmured under his breath. “Whose are these?”

“Don’t worry,” Bilbo said with a sardonic twitch of his lips. “He doesn’t need them anymore.”

Bilbo refused to answer any of Thorin’s questions after that, including who did this to him. He drifted in and out under the influence of the narcotics, always seeming surprised Thorin was there whenever he awoke.

Bilbo’s grandmother made them both ham-and-cheese sandwiches, gently waking her grandson and vigilantly watching him take his next dose.

“I should go,” Thorin said after Bilbo swallowed his tablet. “But may I come back tomorrow?” He turned to Mrs. Took, adding sincerely, “I’ll bring all his homework.”

Bilbo groaned just as his grandmother laughed. “Of course, dearie,” she said, giving the grumbling senior a comforting pat on the arm. “You come by whenever you want.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow sorry for the delay!! School and work have been kicking my butt!  
> I'll be done this upcoming week - wish me luck on my last two finals! Then I will finally have more time (and energy) to write!

The next morning at school, Thorin went around to each of Bilbo’s teachers, explaining the senior was unwell and requesting permission to bring Bilbo’s homework to him. A few seemed pleased to hear he had a tutor, though far too many held the poisonous mindset Thorin feared: it was a lost cause. Of course none of them said it. It was in the way they pursed their lips, sighing heavily as they pulled together a few sheets of paper and jotted down pages to read in the textbook.

There was one teacher, however, who left Thorin with resounding hope: Mrs. Burrows. She seemed genuinely sympathetic to hear Bilbo was  _ unwell _ (Thorin did not go into any more detail than that), and her eyes lit up at Thorin’s desire to help. She even piled on past assignments, offering to give Bilbo partial marks if he completed them.

Thorin’s expression must have betrayed his surprise, for she leaned in conspiratorially. “I know what it’s like when the world does not expect you to succeed,” she murmured. “Even now, it’s hard for women to find jobs. I’ve been tough on Bilbo,” she confessed. “Because that’s what he needed. If he’s finally turning things around, I want to be sure it sticks.”

Thorin did not confess that, had he not overheard her conversation with Bilbo weeks previous, he may not have ever known Bilbo was struggling to graduate, may not have ever offered his meagre help. Instead he thanked her politely, adding her assignments to a building pile.

 

Bilbo was, predictably, less than enthused to see all the assignments. In fact, his exact words may have been, “ _ Get bent,”  _ with an expletive or two thrown in. The bite of the words was sadly diminished by Bilbo’s slurred pronunciation and Mrs. Took’s immediately scolding.

“I didn’t raise you to use such language!” she chided sternly. As Bilbo ducked his head in shame, Thorin’s lips twitched, remembering when he had mistakenly called her senile. Mrs. Took was not to be trifled with.

“I’ll be working until eight - no strenuous activity while I’m away!” she warned, leaning down to kiss her grandson’s cheek.

“The most strenuous activity Thorin will let me do is hold a pencil,” Bilbo muttered glumly.

“That’s because Thorin’s a  _ nice _ boy,” Mrs. Took countered, ignoring the senior’s snicker. “Now give us a kiss, dearie.”

Thorin warmed at the praise as he leaned down to peck a respectable kiss on the matriarch’s cheek. “Goodnight, ma’am.”

As Mrs. Took made her leave, Thorin settled down on the bed, dropping the pile of homework between them. Bilbo’s lips pursed unhappy. “You can stay,” he invited graciously. “But that -” He pointed a shaky, accusatory finger at the pile of homework - “Has to  _ go.” _

“We’re a package deal, I’m afraid,” Thorin explained. “Both of us, or neither of us.”

“I don’t like you  _ that _ much,” Bilbo muttered. Thorin only snorted, and the senior cracked a grin. “Fine,” he acquiesced, burrowing into his pillow with a hugely aggrieved sigh. “But I am in  _ recovery,  _ so I’ll need plenty of breaks.” Lifting his face ever so slightly from the fabric, he glanced at Thorin surreptitiously as he added, “You’ll have to come by often.”

It was oddly vulnerable, the way Bilbo quickly looked away. Though no doubt his attack had left him feeling out of character, especially with the drugs addling his mind.

“Of course,” Thorin promised. “I can’t miss practice, but that’s only twice a week.”

Bilbo reached out to seal the deal, a handshake which turned into a silent moment of hand-holding. Bilbo smiled up at him, lips curving up gently and eyes crinkling. It was achingly, almost intolerably, sincere. Thorin cleared his throat, shifting out of the grip under the pretense of pulling out the first assignment. He wondered why he didn’t feel as perturbed as thought he should, having Bilbo hold his hand, even as he began rattling on about dilution rates.

Bilbo filled out the chemistry sheet lazily, yawning far too often to be genuinely tired. Not for the first time Thorin was befuddled by how quickly Bilbo grasped the concept. In fact, he mostly dropped the pretext of asking for help in order to finish quicker. But Thorin did not say anything; now was not the time.

He wondered if it would ever be the time.

Once the junior-level chemistry homework was completed, Bilbo had grown sullen and reticent. He shoved the paperwork in Thorin’s face before throwing the blankets up to his chin, though the sophomore bit off a retort seeing Bilbo’s pained grimace. Before he could even offer, Bilbo waved at the bottle of painkillers dismissively. “Grandmother monitors it,” he explained. “Next one is at six.”

Socializing did not come naturally to Thorin; he would not know what to say to fill up a normal silence, much less one filled with intermittent groans when Bilbo failed to smother them. He frowned at his hands, clasped politely in his lap, as he thought of something to take Bilbo’s mind off the pain.

“That movie gave me nightmares,” he found himself confessing...and immediately regretting.

Bilbo huffed. “Wha -  _ Tarantula?” _

“Yes,” he replied glumly. “There were all these huge spiders, and one stung me. I awoke suffocating in its web.”

“Aww,” Bilbo crooned. “You poor thing.”

Thorin’s lip twitched as he stared at his lap. He didn’t say how Bilbo appeared, with a  _ sword _ of all things, to free him from the web.

“I don’t know what it’s like to have friends,” he admitted. As Bilbo’s brows pulled together, mouth opening to protest, he hurriedly clarified, “Didn’t. Before I moved here.”

“Mm?” Bilbo prompted wordlessly.

“I have not…” He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his heating neck. “Felt like this before.”

Bilbo grinned crookedly. “Good. ‘Cause I might get a little jealous.”

“Isn’t that - weird?” Thorin asked.

“Thorin, you don’t always have to be so uptight,” Bilbo said with a heavy eye roll. “Do you like being my friend?” At Thorin’s small nod, he continued. “I like being your friend, too. That’s all that matters, you dork.”

“I’m not -”

“Yes, you are,” Bilbo interrupted. “But that’s okay. I love it.”

Thorin froze at how easily the words rolled out of Bilbo’s mouth. It wasn’t  _ I love you, _ of course not, but it was… something. He didn’t know what to say.

“It’s six.” When Bilbo didn’t respond, he waved awkwardly at the clock. “It’s time for…”

He let himself simply trail off, as Bilbo struggled to sit up. “Grandmother left sandwiches for us in the fridge,” he explained, voice tight and words clipped.

Thorin gingerly pushed Bilbo back down, ignoring the teen’s half-hearted protests. “I’ll grab them,” he offered firmly.

Bilbo scowled but didn’t try any further, yelling a hoarse, “I’m not invalided, y’know!” to Thorin’s departing back.

Two plates of sandwiches sat neatly on the top shelf of the fridge. Thorin took a moment to analyze the rest of the appliance - which did not take long at all. The door was littered with half-empty condiments, accompanied by a few apples, some assorted vegetables, and what looked like a leftover casserole. The cupboards were thankfully more plentiful, though despite the sight of canned goods, Thorin was overwhelmed with a pang of guilt; he had no right to snoop through their home like this.

Thorin trudged back to the room, trying to push away his blended shame and concern. Bilbo seemed to sense it nevertheless. Propping up on his elbows, he swiped the sandwich with a terse  _ thanks. _ Tearing off a few bites, he swallowed down a long-awaited capsule of codeine.

The half-eaten meal was soon abandoned as the effects of the drugs hit the senior. He flopped against the bed, as though his arms could no longer hold him up. His head lolled to the side, half-lidded, unfocused eyes staring up at Thorin. He licked and smacked his lips excessively,  _ annoyingly, _ but Thorin found it hard to complain when pinned by Bilbo’s dopey grin.

“You miss me,” he declared, rolling onto his side with a low groan. Pulling his knees up, he encircled Thorin with his prone form. “School isn’t - isn’t the same.” Bilbo’s eyes were fluttering shut before he could even finish his teasing, voice tapering off.

Thorin snorted, reaching out to stroke Bilbo’s riotous curls. He froze, realizing what he was doing, once his hand was already embedded in soft, silky hair. But Bilbo was already fast asleep, little breaths puffing against Thorin’s leg. In his own experience, he found having someone stroke his hair to be incredibly soothing. And Thorin would be no friend at all, denying Bilbo a simple relaxation after all he had been through. Even if he was too… well,  _ asleep,  _ to actually enjoy it.

Thorin did not have the heart to leave Bilbo all alone, even if he was unlikely to awaken. He worked on his own studies, his betraying hand reaching out ever so often to give Bilbo’s achingly inviting curls just  _ one last  _ stroke. Why Bilbo ever dared slick back his hair with that awful gel, he could not say. But that was… beside the point.

It neared sunset by the time the front door creaked opened. Thorin quietly gathered his things, making sure to collect the completed chemistry assignment to hand in on Bilbo’s behalf. Mrs. Took jumped slightly as he lumbered toward the entrance. Her eyes were red with fatigue, and she could only muster a half-hearted smile for him.

“He’s slept the past few hours, ma’am,” Thorin informed her. “Since his last dose - which was precisely at six,” he added. “But he finished all his chemistry homework first.”

Mrs. Took’s smile widened, growing more genuine, though tinged with nostalgia. “Always so bright, my grandson,” she said proudly. Patting Thorin’s forearm, she continued, “Thank you for keeping him company, but don’t feel you have to; it’s mighty late now, Thorin, I hope your parents aren’t worried.”

“I told them I would be at a friend’s until perhaps late, and I’ve had baseball practice run later than this,” he assured her. 

“Well, I can’t send you off with an empty stomach. Here, I’ll get something for you to eat on the way -”

“No!” Thorin’s response came a tad too quickly, and rather too emphatically, given Mrs. Took’s narrowed gaze. He adjusted his glasses nervously, cheeks flushing. “I - I’m really not hungry, thank you,” he added politely. “We ate earlier.”

“You listen here, boy.” Mrs. Took’s finger wagged threateningly, and Thorin’s spine went rigid. “We may not have many fancy luxuries, but I will be in the  _ grave _ before a guest leaves my house without a full stomach. Now! You may put your shoes on while I get something for your trip home.”

Thorin fumbled to put on his loafers, heart inexplicably racing. Bilbo’s grandmother was a fierce woman, and clearly not one to be contradicted. She returned a moment later, all smiles as she handed over an apple and an assortment of cheese and crackers.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“No, Thorin,” Mrs. Took said with a smile as she opened the door. “Thank  _ you.” _


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Just like when they had first started their tutoring sessions, Thorin and Bilbo fell into a routine: at school, Thorin would drop off Bilbo’s completed homework, pick up his new assignments, then head over to Bilbo’s apartment, where he would often stay until dinner - sometimes later, if Mrs. Took was working into the evening.

“I’m so  _ bored,”  _ Bilbo grumbled one afternoon as he sat up, making room for Thorin to sit crossed-legged on the bed.

“And yet,” Thorin drawled. “You never complete any homework while I’m at school all day.”

Swollen, purple-red bruises had faded to brownish-yellow, no longer limiting Bilbo’s wide variety of (mostly irate) facial expressions. Now, he glared bitterly at Thorin. “The only thing worse than sitting here all day doing nothing is doing  _ schoolwork,”  _ he informed Thorin tersely.

Thorin hummed noncommittally, tugging off his black-framed peepers to clean the lenses. “If you finished everything while I’m at school, we could spend this time doing something else,” he offered.

Thorin’s cheeks heated, expecting Bilbo to skew his words inappropriately. Instead, the senior’s nose twitched anxiously. “You’d… still come see me?” he asked hesitantly.

“Of course,” Thorin replied automatically. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I mean, you’d still want me to come over?”

“Yeah, you goof,” Bilbo replied softly, shooting Thorin a pleased smile.

The silence between them felt strange, a bit too charged, and Thorin found himself talking unnecessarily: “Your teachers are all very pleased with the amount of work you’ve been handing in,” he said.

Bilbo merely rolled his eyes. “Probably don’t even think it’s me,” he muttered.

Thorin couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Actually…” he trailed off, outright laughing at Bilbo’s vindicated gasp.

“Who?” he demanded hotly. “No, no, let me guess - Mr. Proudfoot.”

Thorin’s eyes widened, the teen lurching forward to - gently - clasp Bilbo’s forearms. “How did you know?”

Bilbo’s head flew back, arms clasping around his middle protectively as he shook with laughter. Thorin smiled as even his curls danced around, tempting Thorin’s twitching fingers to touch. “He’s always been such a spaz!” Bilbo finally explained, wheezing lightly.

Thorin’s amusement quickly melted into concern as Bilbo laugh tapered off into a groan, expression contorting in anguish. “Holy moly!” Thorin exclaimed, hands settling on the senior’s shoulders. “Bilbo, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, sweething,” he assured fondly.

“Right.” Thorin pulled back, smoothing a hand down his hair unnecessarily. “Yeah, Mr. Proudfoot, he’s a spaz. He even asked for a sample of my writing.”

Bilbo snorted as he rolled his eyes. “Of course,” he muttered. Picking at thread on his quilt, he said, “He doesn’t think I’ll ever get anywhere.”

“We’re already proving him wrong,” Thorin assured firmly. “All you’ll need is a few classes in summer.”

Bilbo cleared his throat, nose twitching as he stared at the papers on his lap. “Right.”

 

While Bilbo’s cuts and bruises were healing, his ribs gave him trouble still. He liked to sit up, now that his painkiller dose was reduced and the simple movement no longer sent his head spinning. But then he would be stuck in that position for a while; moving around simply hurt too much.

Without a doctor, they could not be sure, but Bilbo was confident he wouldn’t need bedrest more than another week or two. Though Thorin had the feeling the senior was more excited to hang with his crew than go back to school.

Thorin fiddled with his pencil, hit by a sudden curiosity. “Bilbo, does anyone else visit you?” he asked.

Bilbo’s shoulders tensed before carefully relaxing, the senior seemingly concentrated on his paperwork. “Like who?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Thorin suggested, “Those guys from school? Your… gang?”

Bilbo snorted at Thorin’s feeble attempt at hip terminology, lips curving into smirk. “Jealous, doll?”

“N-No!” Thorin sputtered. He was mostly used to Bilbo’s teasing, but sometimes it still left him red as a tomato. Like now. “And I’m not… your  _ doll.” _

“‘Course you are,” Bilbo quipped with a wink. “I’d love for you to wear my class ring in front of everyone. No one would know it’s mine, even. But if you don’t want to - if it’s too many questions, I get it,” he continued confidently.

“I -” Thorin broke off, frowning deeply. “Why would I wear your class ring?”

“Thorin, y’know you can stop acting so coy when we’re alone, right?”

Thorin stared at the senior blankly.

“Do you want me to say it first?” Bilbo asked, his teasing grin dropping in Thorin’s continued silence. With a small sigh he reached out, placing a comforting hand over Thorin’s clenched hand. “Look, I know it’s scary at first, and it’s hard,” he murmured. “But if you can just admit it to yourself -”

“Admit what?” Thorin pulled his hand away, insides twisting uncomfortably.

Bilbo sighed, lips pulling into a tired half-smile. “You’re attracted to me. It’s okay, there’s nothing wrong -”

“I’m not what you think I am,” Thorin bit sternly.

Bilbo’s expression fell before contorting into a scowl. “I’m tired of this whiplash!” he yelled, throwing his hands in the air exasperatedly. “Thorin, either grow a pair and admit it, or - or split already! I like you, and I want to be with you. But I’m sick of this. I’m not going to waste anymore time worrying about you!”

Thorin jaw tightened painfully as he gawked at Bilbo, unmoving.

Bilbo’s lips pursed tightly, head turning to face the far wall. His hand flying up dismissively, he shouted, “Go!”

Thorin shot up without another word, cheeks burning with anger. He stormed out of the small room, ignoring Mrs. Took’s concerned look as he stomped into the hall, slamming the front door behind himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait, you guys didn't think the happy times would last, did you?
> 
> Apologies to the Proudfoots. (Proudfeet?)
> 
> Next 1.5 chapters are already written. Yay!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trust me... you guys are gonna like this one ;)

“Mama?” Thorin looked up from his cold, untouched food into the warm, welcoming gaze of his mother. He had grown sullenly silent in the days since he stormed out of Bilbo's house. His father had tried to press him a few times for answers, though Freyja had quietly scolded her husband into giving their son more space. He knew they worried about him, wondering if Thorin was getting into trouble again at school. But ever since the day Bilbo had intervened - unnecessarily - when Thorin was harassed by that bully, he hadn’t had any problems.

No, it was something else entirely on his mind. He knew he couldn’t tell his parents - or anyone else, in fact.  _ Ever.  _ But he was desperate for advice, and his father had already left for work.

“How do you… know what choice to make?” he asked.

“Listen to your heart,” Freyja replied without hesitation. “What is your heart telling you, love?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered.

His mother clucked her tongue. “You’re not listening hard enough, dear. Even I can see.”

Thorin’s head whipped up at his mother’s word. “See what?” he demanded, heart halting in his chest.

“Oh, you’ve been moping around for days!” Freyja replied casually. “Whatever choice you made, it’s not the right one.”

Thorin rubbed his stubbly chin for a moment. “What if you knew a lot of people would hate you for it?” he asked.

Freyja was quiet a moment, hands pausing in the soapy water. Pulling off her long yellow gloves, she walked over to Thorin and cupped his cheek. “Follow your heart, and you’ll never go astray,” she told him.

His mother’s advice left him a small, hesitant relief. Would she change her mind if she knew what he was really talking about? No, he decided immediately. Freyja was a loving, devoted mother - Thorin doubted there was anything, really, that could take her love away.

He had never really heard his parents speak of… those things, those kinds of  _ people. _ Ill or otherwise. It was a taboo topic, of course; one which most parents would not openly discuss in front of their children. But it was something, Thorin thought. It was  _ hope. _

Maybe he didn’t even have to hope - Bilbo had said, had mentioned, how difficult it was, that Thorin didn’t have to wear the senior’s class ring in front of others. That meant they could keep it a secret… Maybe he never had to tell his parents.

He couldn’t enter the military, not if he was - that  _ way.  _ And following his father’s footsteps was Thorin’s dream. But what if it was a one-time thing? Bilbo would likely graduate this summer, move away. Thorin would leave after graduating, too - either to college first, or immediately enlist. This, whatever it was - whatever it might  _ become _ \- would be long over. It wouldn’t count anymore.

Everyone made mistakes in their youth. Thorin got straights As, was taking advanced classes, and was on the baseball team. He could be forgiven for indulging in one unsavoury sin. As long as no one found out, he had nothing to fear.

 

Thorin stared at the vast variety of flowers in a slight daze. He had not even known there were so many different plants, and it certainly wasn’t helping his case at all.

“Mother or girlfriend?”

Thorin started at the sudden voice, turning to face a woman with a weathered face, tired eyes, and a forced smile. “What?” he asked dumbly.

The woman laughed, a small brightness returning to her dull, hazel eyes. “I only see men in here for two reasons,” she revealed. “They need to apologize to their mother or their girlfriend.”

Thorin adjusted his glasses, feigning interest in a pre-arranged bouquet. “I made a mistake, with… someone I fancy. But I want us to be together.”

It felt strange to admit it aloud (not that he and Bilbo were  _ official _ or anything), but Thorn was more surprised to find it wasn’t necessarily  _ hard, _ just... odd.

“For an apology, you definitely need some purple hyacinths,” the woman explained. She led him over to a strange collection of small, star-shaped purple flowers. “But if you really want to get back in her good graces -” The woman paused, sending Thorin a small wink - “You should add some meanings. Many flowers convey love and longing - of course most go straight for the roses,” she added with an eye roll, a flare of personality sparking as she walked Thorin around her modest shop, smelling all the flowers as though for the first time.

“Red carnations, chrysanthemums, some pink camellias…”

Thorin was already losing track of the names as she pulled out flower after flower, holding them up for Thorin’s approval. It was not long before his nose was stuffed with sweet scents.

“Whatever you think is good,” he finally said with a tired wave of his hand. “One bundle -”

“Bouquet,” the woman corrected.

“Bouquet,” he grumbled. “One with all of that - meaning. Forgiveness, and… love, and stuff.” He looked to the floor, loafers scraping against the tile. “And another one, with just the apology flowers.”

He moved toward the front of the shop, avoiding the woman as she arranged two bouquets for him, humming softly under her breath. Soon she was wrapping them up at the front counter - one smaller, with just the purple apology flowers, and a larger one with a mixture of purples, reds, and pinks.

“I’ll put a card in both,” she explained. “in case you want to add a little message.”

Thorin nodded his thanks as he handed her some cash, murmuring that she could keep the change.  He carefully grasped the delicate bouquets before exiting the store and making his way to Bilbo’s house. The door to Bilbo’s apartment swung open only moments after he knocked and Mrs. Took stood before him, arms crossed over her chest.

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming back,” she stated bluntly. “He’s a sweet boy,” she continued. Thorin’s cheeks burned in shame as he tried to keep the matriarch’s gaze, struggling not to fiddle. “Under all that silly leather and hair gel. He’s been through a lot - we don’t need to add you to the list as well.”

“You won’t need to, ma’am,” Thorin promised, straightening his back as he shoved the purple bouquet at the elderly woman.   
Mrs. Took stared at him a moment longer, gaze scrutinizing. Finally she nodded, running her wrinkled fingers over the delicate petals in approval. Thorin let out a sigh of relief, shuffling into the apartment at her wave. He ran his fingers through his hair as he looked around the small room, eyes landing back on Mrs. Took. She held the flower card in her hand - it was empty, as he felt just writing an apology would be less sincere. Yet the woman stared at the card, lips pulled into a firm line.

“Ma’am?” Thorin prompted in concern.

Mrs. Took shook herself, and just like that, she was smiling again. Clucking her tongue, she reached forward and rustled through Bilbo’s flowers, plucking out his card with a slight grimace. “Won’t be needing that, deary,” she murmured absent-mindedly as she tore the papers to shreds. “Now go on!” she ordered, all but pushing Thorin toward the bedroom. She was undeniably strong, especially given her age.

His legs suddenly turned to lead; each step was painfully difficult as Thorin’s heart pounded in his chest. His mind was a blank mush as he pushed open the door, completely forgetting to knock. It wasn’t until Bilbo squawked indignantly from his bed that Thorin realized his mistake.

“Thorin!” Bilbo exclaimed. His surprise quickly faded, replaced by a cool, distant expression. “What are you doing here?” he asked flatly.

“I’m sorry.”

“For barging into my room, or storming out of it?” Bilbo countered.

“Both,” Thorin replied without hesitation, risking a tiny smile. Encouraged by the distinct lack of yelling, Thorin walked towards the bed. “Flowers,” he mumbled as he shoved the colourful collection at the older teen.

“Yes, these are flowers,” Bilbo replied slowly.

Thorin took it as a good sign.

Bilbo’s expression turned thoughtful as he examined the different flowers. “Hyacinths are for apologies,” he said. “Pink camellias, red chrysanthemums… Wait, do you know the meanings of all these flowers?”

“Not exactly,” Thorin admitted, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “I know the purple ones. The flower person -”

“Florist?” Bilbo offered, laughing ever so lightly. “Most of these mean love - she explained that, too?”

Thorin nodded quickly. “This is all new to me, and it’s confusing,” he explained, soon blathering on uncontrollably. “I can’t tell people - I  _ can’t.  _ But I know, and you know, and I… I hope that’s enough for you.”

Bilbo threw off his blanket, pushing to his feet with a small grimace. Thorin waited in silent anticipation of Bilbo’s ultimate judgement. “That’s all I was ever looking for,” Bilbo admitted finally. “I know the dangers of being open -” He broke off into an uncomfortably dry laugh. “But I can’t stand how you torment yourself and deny who you truly are.”

Thorin nodded solemnly. “I want to be with you,” he said firmly. “I know that now.”

Thorin’s breath stuttered as Bilbo smiled wide enough for his cheeks to dimple. “You just gave me the chills, sugar.”

The teen pulled at his collar, face quickly heating. “Do we, ah… kiss now?” he asked.

“We can,” Bilbo said with an inviting smile, reaching out to grasp Thorin’s hands in his. At Thorin’s nod, Bilbo pushed to the tips of his toes and pressed their lips together.

Thorin wasn’t sure how his first kiss should feel. In the movies, it was always dramatic declarations of love followed by even  _ more _ dramatic kissing. But this was different; it was slow, and soft, and it made Thorin wanted to hold Bilbo close and never let him go.

Bilbo pulled away, just slightly, enough to leave his breath fanning Thorin’s chin. “You owe me a lot of those,” he said with a sly wink.

Thorin meant to snort. To come up with some witty remark that would make Bilbo laugh. Instead, he murmured a whole-heartedly assenting (and somewhat breathless), “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of discarding some of the things I'd planned after this in order to accelerate actual plot :0 I'd like to get this story wrapped up!

**Author's Note:**

> Comment below to let me know what you think, and [find me on tumblr](https://airebellah.tumblr.com) under the same name!  
> Thanks to my amazing betas for all their hard work! Check out both their works :)  
> [tea-blitz](https://tea-blitz.tumblr.com) and her AO3 [fan fiction here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloomier/pseuds/Gloomier) :)  
> And my mother (yes, really) who recently gifted the fandom with her work! [mithrildreams on AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrildreams/pseuds/mithrildreams)
> 
>  
> 
> Updates are every second Sunday!


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